


Cat's Cradle

by goomy_is_love



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort, I can't think of them all though right now, I don't know if it'll ever be mutual tbh, Implied Rape/Non-con, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Scars, Violence, emotional and physical, more tags will be added, my main relationship is one-sided, there's probably more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5538566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goomy_is_love/pseuds/goomy_is_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Becca moves in with her Uncle Bruce, she expects a fairly boring life. Those expectations are shattered when she's thrown into a world of crime and super villains.<br/>transferred from ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a few years ago as a rewrite to one of my first published fic, and so far I think it's turning out okay. It was published before ao3 was even a thing (that's how old it is).
> 
> I'm going to tweak some parts a little bit, since I've learned a little more about these characters since I started, so this won't be a word-for-word copy of the ff version.
> 
> Batman was my first comic fandom and even though I'm more into Marvel now, I'll always have a soft spot for these guys.

 

Wayne Manor was way bigger than Becca remembered. She tried not to gape as she slid out of the limousine—a freaking limousine!—and adjusted the shoulder strap of her duffel bag. Her uncle’s chauffer shut the car door while she just stood there and gawked. “I still can’t believe _this_ is where he lives,” she choked out.

The chauffer—Alfred—gestured toward her bag. “Shall I take your bag, Ms. Thompson?”

Becca shook her head, her dark hair falling in front of her eyes. “I’m good, thanks.” She brushed the hair away from her eyes.

Alfred led her up to the front door and Becca silently wondered if her uncle had ever considered a moat. It would go really well with the whole castle look. She’d decided in those few minutes that Wayne Manor was definitely a castle. Becca followed Alfred through the enormous double doors and had to stop again as she took in the size of her new “temporary” home.

Her uncle was waiting for her at the foot of a double staircase. “Rebecca, welcome,” he greeted her warmly. “How was your flight?”

Becca adjusted her shoulder strap again. “Hey, Uncle Bruce. It was fine, I guess. I thought first class excluded all discomforts, including screaming toddlers, but apparently I was wrong.” She dropped her duffel on the floor and took a look around the room. “Nice setup.”

Bruce Wayne gave her what looked like a practiced smile. “It's been in the family for years, you don't know how happy I am that you could visit. Alfred, please show her where her room is."

Alfred nodded once before heading up the stairs.

Becca hurried to keep up with the surprisingly fast old man. Alfred led her up the stairs and through a series of hallways before finally stopping before a door. “Your room, Ms. Thompson,” he said as he opened the door.

Becca dropped her duffel again as she went into the room. A queen sized four-poster bed with black sheets was in the center of the room. Black and white couches and a fireplace were resting on the right side of the room and a small kitchenette on the left side. Becca ran her hand along the back of one of the couches. “This is my room?” she asked.

“Is it not to your liking? Should I inform Master Wayne that you require a different room?” Alfred asked, his expression never changing.

Becca shook her head. “It’s great.”

As soon as Alfred left Becca hurled herself onto the bed and burrowed beneath the covers. She got up and went to lounge on one of the couches, and after that she checked out the kitchenette. After thoroughly exploring her new room, she went back to the bed and flopped down on it with a satisfied sigh. “Now _this_ ,” she said with a smirk. “I can get used to.”

Rebecca Sugar's "Everything Stays” alerted Becca that her phone was still in her bag and she scrambled off the bed and zipped open her duffel. She found her phone and glanced at the screen before choosing “accept call.”

“Hey Mabel,” she answered while heading back towards the bed.

_"Hey, are you at your uncle's yet?"_ her best friend asked on the other end of the reciever.

“Yeah, I just got in."

_"How was your flight?"_

"Ugh, it was a nightmare. This one kid wouldn’t shut up no matter what his folks did. He screamed for almost five hours straight, and he kept on screaming while they unloaded the plane. I love kids, don’t get me wrong, but five hours of them screaming in my ears? No thanks."

_"Didn't you use headphones?"_

"Yep. They didn’t work. No matter how loud I turned them up. Like I said, it was a nightmare. Anyway, how’s the job?"

_"I'm a nurse in an asylum, what do you think?"_

"Your uncle doesn’t pay you nearly enough. You should ask him for a raise."

_"I'll be wasting my breath, honestly."_

"That sucks. Hey, listen, that flight killed me. I’m gonna shut down for a few, kay?"

_"Okay, you should come visit when you get a chance."_

"Can do. Later.”

_"Bye."_

Becca ended the call and placed her phone on the night stand then went through her nightly routine. She found the door to her bathroom—her own bathroom! No more sharing with stupid sisters who hogged the mirror and used up the hot water!—and took a long, hot shower, dressed in her favorite fluffy pajamas, brushed her teeth, and then found her way back under the warmest covers she’d ever felt.

Becca had dreaded moving in with her uncle, no matter how “temporary” her mom claimed it was, but now that she was here it didn’t seem so bad.

 

 

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

 

 

Becca’s first morning in Wayne Manor was somewhat confusing. She got dressed and left her room, but once she was out in the hallway she realized something.

“How the hell do I get back to the front of the house?” she mumbled, and then picked a direction at random. After a few minutes of wandering she caught the scent of coffee being made, so she figured she was heading in the right direction. Sure enough, Becca found her way to the stairs and then to the kitchen, where Alfred was doing some serious cooking.

“Whoa, check out Iron Chef Alfred over here,” she said as a greeting and hopped up onto a stool in front of an island counter. “That’s a lot of food.”

Alfred had made up a plate of pancakes, eggs, toast, and sausage. He placed it in front of Becca. “Neither Master Wayne nor I were sure if your preferences have changed, so it was decided we stick to the basics,” said Alfred while placing a bowl of oatmeal next to her plate and a glass of orange juice by that.

Becca’s eyes widened. “Again, that’s a lot of food. So, what happens if I don’t finish it?”

Alfred’s expression never changed. “Then I’m afraid it’s either the factory or the coal mines for you, young lady.”

Becca chuckled and cut off a piece of pancake. “Good to see you too, Alfred.”

After her parent’s divorce, Becca had come to Gotham regularly to visit her mother’s side of the family—actually, more like she was dragged to Gotham by her mother. Barbara Wayne-Thompson had decided she preferred to live in Gotham, where her given surname was more likely to give her a little power. She’d been virtually unknown in Los Angeles, and for Bruce Wayne’s sister that wouldn’t do at all.

Throughout all of her mother’s socializing and visiting with Bruce, Becca had found an odd friendship with her uncle’s butler.

“So, where is Mr. Rich and Famous?” Becca said with a mouthful of eggs. She smirked as Alfred’s expression slightly shifted to that of disgust. It was fun trying to get his face to change.

“Master Wayne had to meet with Mr. Fox about a business proposition. His exact words included ‘make sure Rebecca stays out of trouble.’” Alfred said with the slightest hint of a smirk.

Becca rolled her eyes and took another bite of pancake, then followed it with a spoonful of oatmeal. When she was little, she was never able to sit still, so Becca did the only thing any twitchy kid would do; she wandered off. As a child, Becca had found and explored every room in Wayne Manor. Her uncle and mother always found her and scolded her for leaving their sight.

Now, her uncle was reminding her of her wandering days and telling her not to go poking her nose where it didn’t belong. There was only one possible reason he didn’t want her snooping around; he was hiding something. It wasn't really any of her business, but trying to find this old house's secrets might be fun.

After all, staying out of trouble? Come on, where was the fun in that?

 

 

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

 

 

 


	2. two

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

Becca learned two things in the next few weeks. The First was that her uncle was rarely home. He was always at either a business meeting or a social function.

The second thing she learned was that Alfred had eyes _everywhere._ He was always popping up when she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

It was starting to get annoying.

After being shooed away from an old grandfather clock—Alfred said it was a Wayne family heirloom that meant the world to Uncle Bruce—Becca wandered around the rest of the mansion. She was still amazed by how big it was.

Living in Wayne Manor was weird for her. Sure, she was used to nice places—her mother lived in a penthouse, after all.

This place just seemed too big—it felt like it was hiding something, like if she looked hard enough, she’d find a secret passage or something.

Becca blinked and shook her head. Secret passages? She _really_ needed to stop watching old adventure movies.

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 00**

Becca’s uncle had suggested she go out. Asking him, “And do what, exactly?” resulted in him handing her a credit card and saying “Anything you want, of course.”

She had her coat on and was out the door in record time, declining Alfred’s offer to drive her.

After getting lost a few times, she finally found what she was looking for—a shopping mall. She spent a few hours picking out new clothes and accessories for her phone, along with a few other things, and then she decided to head back.

She never even noticed the men in suits watching her.

Trouble was, though, she got a little turned around on her way back; it had been a while since her last visit, after all. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed her uncle’s number. After the second ring, her uncle picked up. _Rebecca? What is it? Are you alright?_

“Chill, Uncle Bruce, I’m fine,” said Becca. “I called because I’m kinda lost—how do I get back from,” she looked up at a street sign. “15th and Colby?”

_Colby? Rebecca, listen to me—stay where you are. I’ll come and get you._

“Why?” she asked. “I don’t need a ride, I just need directions.”

_Do as I say and stay there—find a place to stay out of sight until I get there. I don’t know how you got that far Downtown, but it’s not safe for you there._

“Fine,” Becca huffed. “I’ll find somewhere to wait.” She hung up her phone and looked around. Now that she knew she was in an unsafe part of town, she definitely noticed that the atmosphere around her was different than it had been a few blocks ago. She headed towards a nearby bus bench. Not watching where she was going, she bumped into someone. “Oops, sorry,” she told the guy, who was glaring at her. “Yeesh, tone down the Glare of Doom—I said I was sorry,” she muttered before flopping down on the bus bench and rested her elbows on her knees, her shopping bags dangling between her legs. After a minute she noticed something—the guy was still there and he was staring at her. She met his stare full-on and snapped, “What?”

“You’re Wayne’s niece,” he said.

Becca gave him a ‘duh’ look and then made a point of ignoring him, hoping he’d take a hint and go away; he was starting to creep her out.

Instead of going away, he came closer. He wasn’t anything special—not short, but not very tall either, with curly red hair and five-o’clock shadow. What creeped her out was the way he was looking at her. “What’s a well-to-do gal like yourself doin’ in a neighborhood like this?” he asked, still looking at her like she was a nummy treat.

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you _know_ how much you’re worth?” he asked, still coming closer. Before Becca could blink he had yanked her to her feet and had grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her chest—he was stronger than he looked.

He was holding a knife to her throat.

“I wonder how much Wayne would pay to make sure you stay in one piece,” he hissed into her ear.

Becca did the first thing she thought of—she screamed. Loud. Since he was so close to her it startled him and his grip loosened, just for a second.

That was all Becca needed; she shifted her left foot forward and put all her weight into slamming her right elbow into his gut, twisting out of his grip and taking off down the street. To hell with what her Uncle said about staying put—there was no way in hell she was staying anywhere remotely near a psycho with a knife.

“Sure, I pick today to leave my knife at home,” she panted as she rounded a corner. Oddly enough, instead of getting even more lost she found her way back to the crowded main streets of Downtown Gotham. She sent her uncle a quick text telling her where she was and sat down wearily on another bench, her lungs aching from running so fast. A shiny black Jaguar pulled up to the curb and the window to the passenger side rolled down, letting her see inside the car.

It was her Uncle.

As she got into the Jaguar she asked, “Are there any places around here that teach self-defense?”

 

**00 0 0 0 00**

 

 


	3. three

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 00**

 

Alfred was there waiting for Becca when she and Bruce returned from Wayne Manor. Once Bruce was through the doors he said, “Alfred, would you look into getting Rebecca enrolled into a self-defense class? I’d do it myself, but I’ve other things to take care of.”

Alfred gave a slight nod. “Very well, Master Wayne. Ms. Thompson, if you’ll follow me.”

With Alfred’s help, Becca became enrolled in a nearby dojo that offered self-defense for beginners. She also found out that her uncle had enrolled her to start the semester at Gotham University.

“Seriously?” Becca asked. “Why can’t I just do what you did—take over a milti-billion dollar company and live off that?” She’d caught him before he went out the door, on his way to a business meeting.

“I went to college,” he told her. “So did your mother, and our parents, and their parents. I’ve already taken care of the financial side of it—all you have to do is get through it with acceptable grades.” He left before Becca could argue further. “Great,” she muttered.

The next few weeks were basically the same—Get up, go to her college classes on the weekdays and her self-defense classes on the weekends, come home to find that her uncle was out. The one good part of her life at the moment was finding out her friend Mabel was also attending Gotham University. Becca had known Mabel Johnson for years—she worked at her uncle’s asylum as a nurse and always insisted her job wasn’t as bad as it sounded. She still attended school, and they even had a class together, even if Becca didn’t understand what it was supposed to be about. It sounded cool at the time, but the class itself was boring.

“The Psychology of Fear? What the hell does that even mean?” she asked as they headed for said class.

“It’s analytical,” said Mabel as she stooped adjust her shoe. “It’s supposed to help us understand what it means to be scared.”

 “Why? When you see a giant man-eating lizard you’re not going to be thinking ‘hmm, _why_ am I so scared of this? Is there a deeper meaning? Could my fear of this lizard be a symbol for some deep, hidden fear?’ No, you’re going to turn around and run like hell!” She held up her hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture. “That’s it, that’s all there is to it—if you’re scared of something, you run away—you don’t just sit there and analyze it; it’s not exactly rocket science.”

Mabel straightened up. “Are you saying that because you don’t understand the class or because you don’t like the teacher?”

Becca held out her hand and tilted it in a ‘so-so’ motion. “Little bit of both, actually—that guy is creepy.”

Mabel sighed and rolled her eyes before tucking her reddish orange hair behind her ears and straightening her skirt. “Good Morning, Professor,” she said cheerfully as she and Becca entered the classroom. Their professor, an older balding man, simply nodded in her direction before going back to writing notes on the board.

“How can you be that in such a good mood this early?” Becca sighed as she followed Mabel to a row of seats in the middle. “I’ll be lucky if I manage to stay awake for this.”

“Well,” said Mabel as she pulled a notebook and pen from her bag. “It would help if you weren’t up until three in the morning every night.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Becca muttered, her head resting on her arms. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

So, Becca’s life for a while was a steady stream of self-defense, college, and coming home to an empty manor.

She was actually surprised when he was home one night. “I’m having a few guests over later this evening; I’ve bought you a dress and had Alfred put it in your room," he informed her.

 

When her uncle left she went up to her room—sure enough, a black dress had been laid out on her bed.

“Great,” she muttered. “An entire night surrounded by snobs.”

This was going to be a _long_ night.

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

Becca was right—the night was only getting started and she already felt like shooting herself in the head. The people were boring, the food was weird, and there was _nobody_ here her own age. She kept to the edge of the crowd, silently counting the minutes until she could go back to her room.

She was just about to ask her uncle if she could turn in early when a loud crash caught her attention.

“Nobody move!” she heard somebody shout.

“Finally,” she muttered while looking for the source of the noise. “Something interesting.”

There were two men in suits shoving their way through the guests, looking from face to face. One of them grabbed a woman with dark hair, studied her for a second, and then released her, moving on to more party-goers.

Unlike everyone else, Becca wasn’t scared; she wasn’t even scared when one of the men grabbed her, studied her, then spun her around and locked his arm around her throat.

She was about to test out her new self-defense moves when she heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled back and felt metal against her temple. Everything she’d learned over the past few weeks leaked out of her and all she thought about was how quickly he could pull the trigger.

“Try to follow us and her head gets blown off,” a thug warned as he held the gun to Becca’s head. She was dragged towards a window and the man shot the glass before leaping out of it.

Becca was thinking she was going to die when he opened a parachute and they floated to the street below. He released his harness and let go of her. She tumbled to the ground, and when she got up and tried to run he grabbed hold of her and dragged her to a white limousine. He yanked the door open and shoved her inside, then slammed it shut. The other door opened and the other man slid in beside her.

“What the hell is going on?” Becca snapped when the limo took off down the street.

 “I’d watch your mouth, little girl,” an older man in a white suit warned her, pulling out a gun. “You’re not the one holding the gun.” He turned the gun around in his hands and asked her, “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Some mafia wannabe decided to play “kidnap the helpless girl?” Becca replied while glaring.

He cocked the gun and smirked. “Cocky, ain’t ya? You ain’t gonna be cocky once I put lead through your brain.”

Becca was about to open her mouth—and say something stupid, probably—when there were three loud bangs in a row followed by the limo coming to a halt.

“Don’t just sit there!” the man ordered the goon. “See what’s going on!”

The goon got out of the car and was gone for a minute. When he came back, he reported that the car had three flat tires.

“So what’re you waiting for, an invite?” the man in the white suit snarled. “Go fix it!”

The goon got back out of the car. He was out there for longer than it took to change a few tires, so the man in the white suit pointed his gun at the other thug and motioned for him to get out of the car. A loud thump caused the old man to mutter about incompetent help. “You,” he said to Becca. “Stay put, or else.” he slid out and the moment he was out of the car she slid to the other door and got out. Just then a girl grabbed hold of her wrist and told her, “Run!”

She did as she was told and followed whoever it was that was dragging her towards a small blue car. It was dark and she couldn’t see who it was, but they sounded familiar. “Buckle up and hold on,” they told her. Once the adrenaline wore off Becca got a good look at her rescuer and her eyes widened.

“Mabel?”

The red-headed girl behind the wheel grinned. “Nice to see you, too, Becca.”

Becca had absolutely no idea what she was doing here, how the redhead had found her, or how she knew she’d needed help. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass, apparently,” said Mabel as she pulled around to the back of a very old-looking building. She parked the car and got out, motioning for Becca to do the same. “You’ve got _some_ family tree, you know that?” she said as they walked through heavy looking doors. “It’s kind of funny, when you think about it; one side of your family is ridiculously wealthy, while the other—well, the other is wealthy, too, but it’s the wrong kind of wealthy. Well, not wrong so much as obtained through not-quite-legal means. ”

Becca was struggling to keep up with Mabel’s hurried footsteps, let alone the conversation. “Huh?”

Mabel gave her a sideways look. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I repeat, huh?”

Mabel shook her head. “Never mind.”

They passed through another set of doors; these ones guarded by two intimidating—and slightly good-looking—men in suits. When they stepped through the double doors, Becca gave a low whistle as she looked around the spacious room. A fireplace roared on one side of the room and was surrounded by a cluster of velvet couches and chairs. An old woman sat on the chair closest to the fire. Her dark silver dress matched her hair, which was pinned to her head in a tight bun. Her hands were bony and brittle looking, and there were deep lines in her face.

It took Becca a moment to realize that she recognized this woman.

“Grandma?”

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the original first publishing of Becca's story, her grandma was a sweet little old lady that was dead before the story even started. I've never regretted anything more, so she lives in this version as a badass mob boss :) Also I picture her grammy to be kinda like the grandma off of Anastasia


	4. four

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

_They passed through another set of doors; these ones guarded by two intimidating—and slightly good-looking—men in suits. When they stepped through the double doors, Becca gave a low whistle as she looked around the spacious room. A fireplace roared on one side of the room and was surrounded by a cluster of velvet couches and chairs. An old woman sat on the chair closest to the fire. Her dark silver dress matched her hair, which was pinned to her head in a tight bun. Her hands were bony and brittle looking, and there were deep lines in her face._

_It took Becca a moment to realize that she recognized this woman._

_“Grandma?”_

The old woman stood up and made her way slowly towards Becca and Mabel. “Well done, Mabeline,” she said.

Mabel flushed red at the use of her full name.

The old woman stood before Becca, leaning heavily on a walking stick with a wolf handle. “You’ve gotten so big, my little Rebecca,” she said gently.

Becca shook her head slowly. “Gran, you’re. . . .” she trailed off.

“Old?” her grandmother finished.

Becca shook her head. “Not what I was going to say.”

Her grandmother let out a slow breath. “These last few years have been rough.” She looked her granddaughter up and down. “Well, it looks like you’ve had quite a night. Why don’t you get some rest; I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

 

 

00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00

 

 

Abigail Diane Williams-Thompson—Becca’s grandmother—was, as it turned out, one of the top crime bosses in Gotham. The man who had kidnapped her was Carmine Falcone—one of her rivals. He’d had a bone to pick with her, and so he’d targeted her granddaughter, not even caring that she was also the niece of the richest man in Gotham.

“Your uncle and your mother are so much alike; that’s why I never approved of your father marrying your mother,” Abigail said to Becca over lunch. “I knew right from the start that it would end badly. People never listen to their elders,” she sighed. “Then again, I suppose one good thing did come out of their marriage.”

When she didn’t continue, Becca asked “What?”

One of Abigail’s eyebrows rose as she gestured to the young woman. “You, of course. Your sisters, though, I could do without.”

Becca agreed whole-heartedly.

Abigail was taking Becca somewhere later that night to meet a friend, who apparently knew Becca when she was a little girl.

“His name is Oswald,” said Abigail. “He’s a bit odd, but then again so is everyone else in this city.”

Becca agreed on one condition—she wasn’t going to wear a dress. “I’ll wear a nice shirt and a skirt, but that’s where I draw the line.”

Abigail nodded; her granddaughter was just like her—stubborn until then end.

She’d make a perfect heir.

 

 

  * **00 0 0 00 0 0 00**



**BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY’S NIECE KIDNAPPED—GOTHAM TIMES.**

**NOTORIOUS MOBSTER CARMINE FALCONE SUSPECTED OF ASSAULT AND KIDNAPPING—DAILY PLANET.**

**WAYNE** **ENTERPRISES’ HEIR IS MISSING—NEW YORK NEWS.**

_Carmine Falcone was charged with the kidnapping of billionaire Bruce Wayne’s niece and heir to his fortune during one of Mr. Wayne’s fundraisers. Witnesses report seeing Falcone’s hired help pushing the young woman out of a window, and then into a white limousine. Other sources say the girl was removed from Falcone’s possession by an unidentifiable figure. Rebecca Thompson, the girl in question, has yet to be found, and Mr. Wayne states he’ll “do whatever it takes to get her back.”—read more on page five._

**00 0 0 0 00 0 0 00**

 

Abigail’s friend, Oswald Cobblepot, was the owner of the Iceberg Lounge—a place filled with even more rich, snobby people.

“Great,” she muttered as she followed her grandmother into the lounge, messing with the hem of her black skirt. She tried not to stumble when her grandmother’s cane swung out in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Oswald, so good to see you,” Abigail greeted a stout little man in a suit and top hat. “Do you remember my granddaughter?” she gestured to Becca.

The little man, Oswald, nodded. “It’s been a while, but yes, I remember.” He offered his arm to the older woman. “Join me for a drink?”

Abigail nodded. “Rebecca, please refrain yourself from getting into trouble while in his club.”

“Sure thing,” Becca said absent-mindedly as she looked around the Iceberg. It was very . . . polar. There was a pool with penguins in the dining area and the dance floor looked like a cruise ship. “Weird,” she muttered as she walked around, not caring anymore that she was getting the odd look here and there.

It never even crossed her mind that the reason they were staring was because she’d made headline news—anyone who read the paper, watched the news, or talked to other people knew what had happened, and that her uncle was looking for her.

She saw something out of the corner of her eye and looked that way.

Someone was in the back room—she’d seen them through the door’s window.

Becca looked around for her grandmother—she was on the second floor and so was her friend.

Neither one of them would notice if she decided to investigate. She headed towards the back door, which led to an office. There was another door on the other side of the office, and whoever had just left had left in a hurry—they hadn’t even closed the door all the way.

Part of her brain told her to go back to where her Gran could see her. The curious part of her won out, though, and she slowly headed towards the door leading outside.

When Becca poked her head outside the first thing she noticed was that it was still raining. It had been drizzling when they’d arrived at the Iceberg and had picked up to a decent rain in the short amount of time they’d been there.

Becca saw a hooded figure running out of the back alley that led to the main street and she descended the stairs, ready to follow them.

She didn’t notice the body until she tripped over it.

Becca gave a startled yell and landed hard on the pavement. Her first thought was that she was going to be sick as she stared at the body, but then she noticed that whoever it was, they were still alive; unconscious, possibly bleeding to death, but _still alive_.

Becca shot to her feet and ran back inside.

“ _GRAN!”_

**00 0 0 0 0 00**

He’d only gone to the Iceberg Lounge to pick up a package. He’d expected to go in, pick up the package, and leave.

He’d been startled when a hooded man had come running out of the back office. So startled, in fact, that he never even saw the rather large knife they were carrying.

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 00**

Abigail ‘tsk’d as her granddaughter came running into her view soaking wet and hysterical. “Rebecca, _really_ ,” she began, but was cut off by the shivering young woman.

“There’s a man out back, he’s been hurt,” Becca said in a shaky voice. “Gran, please, we have to do something—we have to help—we can’t just—.”

“Rebecca,” Abigail interrupted as she stood up. “Did you call an ambulance?

Becca shook her. “N-no, I didn’t even think of that . . . . .”

Abigail gestured with her cane. “Lead the way.” On the way out, she asked “Oswald, were you expecting anyone today?”

The Penguin shook his head, but then changed it to a nod. “I was expecting someone fairly soon, actually.”

Becca led them outside and knelt beside the man she’d tripped over. She looked at the red stain spreading across his shirt then back to her grandmother before pulling her cell phone out of a pocket sewn on the inside of her skirt.

“Is this him?” Abigail asked Oswald, who nodded once before heading back inside to make a phone call.

“He’s calling my driver and instructing him to pull around back,” Abigail told Becca, who was dialing 911. “There’s no need for that, just apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding.”

Becca hesitated, then hung up the phone just as a voice answered “ _911, what’s your emergency?_ ” She pressed both hands against the wound, barely flinching when her hands were stained red from the blood.

The rain had lightened again. Abigail stood behind her granddaughter and watched her try to save a man who Abigail knew wouldn’t do the same for her. “Do you know who this is?” she asked Becca.

Becca shook her head.

“His name is Jonathan Crane—most people know him as the Scarecrow. He’s killed hundreds of people and harmed hundreds more.” Abigail nudged his shoulder with her cane. “Do you still want to save him?”

Becca nodded.

“Really? Even though he wouldn’t think twice about letting _you_ die?”

Becca turned so she could look up at her grandmother. She said nothing, but Abigail could tell her mind was made up; she wasn’t going to let him die—even if his death would make Gotham a little safer.

“Stubborn girl,” Abigail said quietly as her driver pulled into the back alley.

As she waited for the driver, Becca stayed where she was, murmuring words of comfort to a man who was probably in too much pain to understand what she was saying.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You’re going to be okay.”

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey look, two canon characters in one chapter!
> 
> The hooded dude with the knife has no significance—he was just a random dude breaking in and out of an upper-class night club, and when someone “caught” him coming out the back, he panicked and stabbed them. I spent forever trying to work out how Becca was going to meet Jonathan in this. I knew he’d be hurt and she’d get help and save him—I just didn’t know how to do that. A random thug with a knife seemed like a good way to make that happen.


	5. five

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

Once they got him out of the rain and into her grandma’s home, Becca was able to get a better look at the man who supposedly struck fear into the hearts of so many people.

He was tall—she could tell that much even with him laying flat on his back. His short orange-brown hair was damp from the rain and stuck to his head, and he was ridiculously skinny—it looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in years. He had shadows under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken in.

Overall, she wasn’t impressed.

Mabel was asked to look after him, since she was professionally trained as a nurse. “Sure, why not?” she sighed. “I’m always patching him up anyway, so this won’t be any different.” Becca gave her an odd look, so she explained a little better. “On the outside, the other villains and thugs of the city usually leave him alone; you don’t mess with a psycho loaded with toxic chemicals. Without those toxins, though, what is he?”

Becca looked towards the bed they’d put him in. “Someone who probably got beat up a lot in high school.”

Mabel nodded. “He’s not completely helpless; I’ve seen him fight back. He’s good, but . . .” she trailed off.

“Everyone else is better,” Becca finished. She knew what that was like—no matter how good you were, the bullies were always better. They were stronger, and they had this annoying habit of ganging up on you. She’d been one of the lucky ones; Bullies didn’t mess with you if your rich family threatened to press charges.

“How long until he wakes up?” she asked Mabel.

The nurse sighed and ran a hand through her auburn hair. “It could be anywhere from a few hours to a few days. Just watch him and let me know when he’s conscious.” She left and Becca sat in a chair by his bedside. She pulled out her phone charger from her pocket and plugged it into an outlet by the bedside table. She’d had it with her on the night of her kidnapping and was glad she decided to carry it with her, especially now that her phone was dying. Once it was charged up, she’d call her uncle and reassure him that she was okay.

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 00**

 

The first thing that registered in his mind when he woke up was that he was in a great deal of pain.

The second thing that registered was that he didn’t know where he was. He looked around, his vision blurry; even without his glasses he could tell he was in an unfamiliar place—that wasn’t good. That meant he didn’t know how to get out if he needed to. He tried to sit up but the pain in his stomach made him stop and lie back down.

At least it wasn’t Arkham. At least, for now, he was away from that maniac Lyle Bolton. There were only a few things that could scare him, and Bolton was one of them.

He was looking around the room, searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon, when someone came into the room. He couldn’t see them clearly until they got closer, and even then he had a hard time making out any defining features.

It was a girl, that much he could tell.

She didn’t notice him watching her at first; she flopped down onto a chair by his bedside and grabbed something off the bedside table . She looked up once and then she looked back down at her book. After a few seconds her head snapped back up. They stared at each other for a few seconds before the girl shot to her feet and yelled “MABEL!” and then hurried back out the door.

He blinked. That was unexpected.

A few minutes later the girl came back with someone vaguely familiar, who moved to his bedside and picked something up off the nightstand.

His glasses.

Whoever it was realized he couldn’t see much without them and slipped them back onto his face. His vision cleared and he blinked up at the red-headed woman standing above him.

It was the nurse from Arkham.

He tensed—did that mean he was back at the asylum after all? Just thinking about what that meant made him queasy.

The woman recognized his unease and placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. Nobody can hurt you here.”

The smaller girl appeared at the nurse’s side. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

The nurse nodded. “He’s fine—he’s just bothered by unfamiliar places.”

That was only half-truth and they both knew it. It wasn’t being somewhere unfamiliar that bothered him—it was that damn asylum and what would be waiting for him when he was sent back.

The smaller girl didn’t back off. “Are you sure he’s okay? He doesn’t look okay to me.”

The nurse—Mabel, he remembered—gave the girl a reassuring smile. “He’s fine, Becca.” She looked back at him. “You’re a lucky man, Dr. Crane—If this girl hadn’t followed that thief out of the Iceberg, you’d be dead.”

The Iceberg. That was the last place he remembered being. He’d gone up the stairs and had reached for the doorknob when the door flung open and he’d come face to face with an extremely nervous looking young man. He’d only had a second to wonder what the man was doing there—not that he cared, or anything. He didn’t have any of his toxins with him, so gassing the young man was out of the question.

After that, things became hazy. He remembered pain. He remembered rain soaking him to the bone and mixing with blood, turning the rainwater on the pavement a light pink. He remembered thinking that he was going to die there.

He remembered someone sitting by him, telling him everything was going to be okay. He’d blacked out after that, and then woke up here.

The nurse left again to get more painkillers and told the girl—Becca—to watch him, as if he was an invalid. He tried to sit up again, and once again pain made him lie back down. She’d appeared at his side almost instantly and he glared at her. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he snapped, his voice weak and raspy. 

She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to the right, her mood slipping from worried to annoyed. “Yeah? I’ll remember that the next time I’m saving your life.”

His eyes narrowed and he let out a slow hiss of air. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. That would change once she learned exactly who she was dealing with.

 

 

**00 0 0 0 0 0 0 00**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note—I don’t know if Lyle Bolton’s in the comics, but I’m interested by the character. Someone who has the ability to scare the shit out of the Master of Fear himself has got to be one scary dude.


	6. six

 

**000 0 0 0 0 000**

The day after Jonathan Crane regained consciousness, he learned three very important things. He learned that he was in a secure building that belonged to one of Gotham’s top crime bosses, and that the girl who’d saved his life was said crime boss’s granddaughter. He also learned that she was the girl all over the news, and that the richest man in Gotham was looking for her.

Why was Wayne so desperate to get her back, he wondered. Was it out of fondness for a family member? Or was it simply because the billionaire feared that there would be no one to uphold his legacy? No blood relatives, anyway—Wayne had, after all, adopted one or two orphaned brats.

These thoughts passed through his mind in the blink of an eye as the girl came in with the nurse, who was chastising her for leaving him alone.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he’s dangerous,” Mabel was saying. She glanced at him and said, “No offense, Doctor.”

He wasn’t offended—it was smart of her to realize that he was a threat, even injured as badly as he was.

“What- _ever_. I don’t care how “dangerous” he is, he ain’t going anywhere,” said the girl—he forgot her name. She had her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t care if he was the goddamn Joker—right now he’s just a skinny science geek with a hole in his gut.” He bristled at her comment and she gave him a look that said ‘yeah, you heard me.’

“Becca, _please_ ,” said Mabel. “Be careful.”

Becca crossed her arms. “What’s he gonna do, glare at me? Scary.”

“That’s enough,” a new voice said; the girl’s grandmother entered the room and tapped her lightly on the thigh with her cane. “You’d do well to listen to Mabeline, Rebecca. That mouth of yours is going to land you in trouble one day.” She rested both hands on her cane and studied him. “He won’t be injured forever.”

“Whatever,” Rebecca huffed.

 

**00 0 0 0 00 00**

Two days after he regained consciousness, Rebecca approached him on her own. “Hey,” she greeted as she entered the room carrying a tray with a bowl of soup on it. She placed the tray on the nightstand and said, “Sorry for the attitude I gave you yesterday—I just found out my face is all over the news, and I kind of hate being in the spotlight like that.” She shrugged. “I was having a crappy day and I took it out on you, so . . . .” she trailed off. “Here, let’s start over.” She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Rebecca—Becca for short.”

He stared at the offered hand, never moving to take in. After a few seconds of awkwardness she lowered her arm and gestured to the tray. “I brought soup,” she said.

He gave her a look that said ‘obviously.’ Becca bit her lower lip and shuffled her feet. “Look, I know you’re this bad-ass super-villain and everything, and that’s cool, but right now you’re kinda stuck here whether you like it or not, so—”

“Is there a point to this little speech?” he interrupted. “If there is, please make it—I’m getting bored.”

Becca frowned. “What?”

“You heard me—or are you hard of hearing as well as mentally challenged?”

Her frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me stupid?” she asked incredulously.

“Very good,” Jonathan sneered. “Perhaps you _aren’t_ as dense as you look.”

If the shade of red her face was turning was any indication, she was getting _pissed_. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘I could use a little entertainment.’

“Look,” she said through clenched teeth. “All I’m trying to do is be friendly and apologize for being a bitch the other day.”

His head tilted. “Really? And what if I said your apology means nothing to me?”

Becca let out an angry huff. “Fine, be a Jackass, but just remember if it wasn’t for me, you’d be six feet under,” she snarled.

The reminder that she’d saved him caused his temper to flare. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he hissed.

“Yeah, kind of hard to ask for help when you've just been stabbed,” Becca shot back. She tried counting to ten like her therapist had told her, but it didn’t help. “If this is how you act when people try to help you, I can see why no one bothers,” she said angrily before storming out of the room.

Jonathan spent the next twenty-four hours thinking about all the ways he was going to make her scream. Her death was going to be slow and painful, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

 

00 0 0 0 0 00

 

 

Three days after Jonathan regained consciousness he was visited by Abigail Williams and her granddaughter, who didn’t look happy to be in the same room as him.

“My granddaughter told me about your conversation yesterday, Dr. Crane,” she began.

“So she runs behind adults and lets them solve her problems, then,” he said dryly, and only afterwards did he remember Abigail Williams was someone you did not want as an enemy. Her eyes narrowed and her grip on her cane tightened. “Don’t make me regret letting you recover in my home,” she said. “Rebecca is a grown woman, and she makes her own decisions, and her decision to talk to me got me thinking. While you deserve a certain amount of respect, it’s clear that you need reminding of something—she saved your life. Whether you like it or not, you owe her a Life Debt.”

Both Jonathan and Becca paled at that. “What?” they asked in unison.

Becca shook her head. “No!” she sputtered. "No way, no life debts!” she started.

Abigail looked slightly amused. “You don’t have a choice; you saved his life, therefore he owes that life to you.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. Arguing would do him no good, since the old woman was right; he owed the girl a Life Debt. He wasn’t over familiar to the term, but he knew enough to know that if she was ever in mortal danger and he was around, he’d be obligated to save her.

Damn. There went his plans of killing her slowly and painfully. Then again, he could always kill her after the Debt was paid. He focused on the women in front of him and tuned back into what they were saying.

“—and on top of that, I don’t _want_ anyone owing me anything, especially not him!” Becca said, he voice coming close to a whine. “As far as I know, if I have a blade in my back he’d twist it sooner than pull it out!” She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “I can’t deal with looking over my shoulders every time I’m in a dark alley.” A beat of silence, and then “Okay, so technically I’d have to do that anyway, since this is Gotham, but still—”

“Rebecca,” Abigail interrupted, her voice cold as ice. “For the last time, you have no say in this, now _stop arguing_.”

And that was that. Becca shut her mouth and pouted a bit. “Whatever,” she muttered.

 

 

00 0 0 0 0 000

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote the Doctor: “Is this how time normally passes? Really slowly, in the right order? ”
> 
> Oh, linear time progression, thou art a heartless bitch.


	7. seven

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

It was a few days later when Becca realized her uncle had no idea that she was safe, since he hadn’t heard any word from her for a while. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she took it out as she walked down the hall, just missing the call.

Oh. Oh, wow. Thirty-seven missed calls and twenty voice messages.

Every single one of them was from her uncle.

“Oops,” Becca muttered, calling him back. “Hey, Uncle Bruce, I literally just checked my phone and saw you called—” she had to move the phone away from her ear as her uncle’s shouting voice came through her phone’s speaker. “Jeez, you don’t have to yell!” she huffed. Then, “Yes, I know what day of the week it is, and yes, I meant to call you and tell you I was ok.” More words on his end, not yelling this time but not exactly calm. “I mean it, Uncle B, I meant to call you, I’ve just been . . . busy,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t a complete lie—she’d spent a good chunk of time looking after Mr. ‘You-Will-All-Cower-Before-Me-In-Witless-Terror’ (And WOW that was a mouthful).

Becca turned the corner, still trying to placate her uncle, when she stopped dead and gave an irritated huff. Sitting not even five feet from the door to his temporary room was Mr. Pain-In-The-Ass himself, leaning against the wall and pressing a hand to his stomach.

‘Great,’ Becca thought irritably. ‘The dummy tried to move and popped his stitches.’ She frowned at the dark red stain spreading across his bandaged stomach and switched the phone to her other ear. “Look, Uncle B, you don’t have to worry, okay? I’m okay, I’m safe, and I really have to go now, kay? Bye.” She hung up the phone and pocketed it, then proceeded to stand in front of Crane and frown at him. “Please tell me you weren’t stupid enough to think you could move around yet.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

Her only answer was an icy glare that would’ve put Mr. Freeze to shame. Becca rolled her eyes. “For a genius, you’re not that smart—you know that, right?”

Another glare.

When Becca moved to help him he jerked out of her grip, his back sliding down the wall and hitting the tiled floor with a ‘thump.’ “I don’t need your help,” he hissed, his voice barely audible.

Becca snorted and stood up. “Fine,” she snapped. “Have fun bleeding to death.” She turned on her heels and stomped off. She slowed down after the first few paces and she glanced over her shoulder at the man bleeding out on her grandmother’s (antique) tiled floor.

‘Are you REALLY just going to leave him there?’ a voice in the back of her mind whispered. ‘Do you REALLY want this man’s death on your conscience when you KNOW you could’ve helped him?’

“Damn,” Becca huffed while turning around and heading back. She slid his arm over her shoulder and hauled him up—at this point, he was too weak from blood loss to really fight back. She managed to get him back to bed, and then she called for help. Her grandmother’s medics came and stitched him back up, and Becca sat with him the whole time.

“THAT was your big escape plan?” she asked him once he’d regained consciousness. “Someone guts you like a fish and you think you can move around only a few days later?”

His glare lacked some of its venom since he was hopped up on pain medication. “I don’t need to explain my actions to anyone, especially not you,” he rasped.

Becca huffed and crossed her arms. “Y’know, you got a funny way of showing gratitude—I just save your butt, AGAIN.”

“I didn’t ASK for your help,” he shot back. “I don’t need your help, I don’t even WANT your help!” his voice raised to a shout and he was breathing heavily.

“Yeah, well, too bad!” she yelled right back. “Until you're healed, I’m not going anywhere! I’m not happy about it either, but like it or not you’re stuck with me.”

The look he gave her was incredulous. “Why waste your time, then?”

Becca huffed out a breath of air. “Yeah, like I’m really gonna let you die,” she said, not meeting his accusing stare. After a few seconds she got up and left the room.

When she came back she had another bowl of soup and a roll. “Don’t complain, just shut up and eat it,” she ordered, putting the tray in front of him, and then she sat back down and read her book.

This was how it went for a while—he was given medication, they would argue, he was given food and she sat with him while he ate. They still didn’t like each other, but by now they were almost used to each other.

During the third week, something happened after he was given his medication, during the time when she was getting him food. He was lying on his back when the lights went out.

When they came back on, the Batman was standing at the foot of the bed, and he didn’t look happy.

 

 

**0 0 0 0 0 0 0**

 

 

 

Becca was on her way to Crane’s room when the lights went out. Surprisingly, her first thought was about the bastard and whether or not he was alright. dropping the food she'd brought, she ran the rest of the way to his room.

“I don’t believe this,” she muttered.

Crane’s IV’s and heart monitor had been ripped off and the goddamn Batman had him up against the wall.

‘If his stitches pop AGAIN I'm going to kill something,’ she thought, looking around for a weapon. All she found was a broom.

Eh, good enough.

 

 

**0 0 0 0 0 0 0**

 

“I’m losing my patience, Crane,” Batman warned. “For the last time, _where is she?”_

“D-don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” Crane wheezed. He was pretty sure one of his ribs was fractured and his stomach was aching—it was hard to breathe and his vision was getting fuzzy.

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

The Batman was startled enough to lose his grip on Crane, who slid to the floor with a thud and sat there, trying his best not to lose consciousness.

Rebecca rushed in the room and stood in front of him, causing the masked man to take a step back.

 

 

 

**0 0 0 0 0 0**

 

 

‘Ah, shit,’ Becca thought once she realized just how big this guy was. ‘Great idea, David, piss off Goliath.’ Still, Crane coughed up a little blood and her grip on the broom tightened. “I mean it, Fuckwit! Back off or I’ll kick your ass!”

Tough talk from a girl a little over five feet, she realized, but she didn’t back down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said slowly.

“Too damn bad, then, cuz you ain’t leaving with him while I’m still standing!”

With all his tricks, she never stopped to consider knock-out gas might be one of them.

 

**0 0 0 0 0 0 0**

 

 

 

When Becca regained consciousness, she was back at Wayne Manor in her own room. She sat up and blinked, trying to clear her vision.

How did she get back here? The last thing she remembered was standing in front of Crane, protecting him from . . . .

That sneak bastard! He must’ve knocked her out and brought her back to her uncle!

Becca got up and ran out of her room. “Uncle Bruce!”

He was in the hall with the grandfather clock and he looked relieved to see her. “Rebecca, thank good ness you’re alright,” he said, reaching out for her. “Are you feeling alright?”

Becca shrugged off his hand. “How did I get here?” she demanded.

Her uncle frowned. “Aren’t you glad to be back? After being held captive for so long, I would have thought you’d be glad to be home.” He brushed a hand over her forehead. “I hope your fever’s not coming back.”

It was Becca’s turn to frown. “Fever?” she asked.

Her uncle checked her pulse and nodded. “After Falcone took you, he was intercepted by a rival gang. They held you hostage for weeks.”

She shook her head. “That can’t be right. I was with my—with someone I knew, and we found someone in trouble. I helped take care of him, and then. . . . . then someone came for him.” She swallowed again. “I couldn’t stop them from taking him.”

It hit her then just how much she’d grown used to the stubborn jackass she’d been looking after, and how much it hurt that she couldn’t save him.

Becca’s uncle put a hand on her back. “All that matters is you're home now, and it's best to forget about all this.” He sent her back to bed and once he was out of her room, Becca checked her phone; full battery, six missed calls, three voice messages and two texts. All of them were from Mabel, saying that she was worried. Becca texted back that she was okay now, she was back at Wayne Manor. She hesitated, and then asked her friend what had happened. Her phone started ringing—Mabel was calling.

“Hey,” Becca answered.

_Oh, thank goodness you’re alright! You are alright, right?_

“Yeah, I’m fine—back home, safe and sound.”

_Thank God, I was getting worried. I went to check on Dr. Crane after the lights went out and he was gone, so I looked for you, and you were gone too, and I didn’t know what to think, I just—_

“Wait, hold on,” Becca interrupted. “What happened to him?”

_Oh, Becca, I'm so sorry. They . . . there was nothing we could do, you were already gone . . ._

Becca swallowed. "My uncle says I need to forget everything, but I don't know if I can.

_How much does he know?_

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

She probably SHOULD forget any of this happened, but she didn't know if she could.

 

 

**0 0 0 0 0 0**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, this chapter went down a little differently than it did originally. I had Bruce trying to convince Becca that she was drugged and hallucinated the whole thing.  
> Her face had been plastered all over then news, and she's not stupid, so something had to change..


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up and skipped a chapter, sorry, and this one's important, so I had to go back and fix it
> 
> WARNING—RAPE AND ABUSE LATER IN THIS CHAPTER. AGAIN, THERE WILL BE RAPE AND PHYSICAL ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

 

 

 

**\- - - - - -**

Arkham Asylum was as gray and dreary as ever, and Jonathan took a second to evaluate his chances of escaping again. With two broken ribs, a broken arm, a fractured hip, and his not-quite healed knife wound, though, he calculated that his chances were less than stellar. He sat in the asylum’s infirmary and, not for the first time, contemplated strangling the young nurse. She was so caring, so gentle, and he wanted nothing more than to slit her throat. She instructed him to take it easy for a while, and he snidely replied that there wasn’t really anything strenuous he could do in this thrice-be-damned place.

Later, while sitting on an old, beat up couch in the recreation room, the two people who were the closest to friends he’d ever had approached him and sat on each side of him.

“The time has come, my dear friend, to talk of many thinks,” Gotham’s resident Mad Hatter began with a not-all-there smile and a far off look in his cloudy blue eyes. “Of shoes and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.”

“Not now, Tetch,” Jonathan sighed.

“Come on, now, Crane—is that how you greet your friends?” Edward Nygma said with a smirk. “After all, we were concerned.”

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

Jervis spoke up before Edward could even open his mouth. “When we use a word, it means just what we choose it to mean—nothing more nor less.”

Jonathan sighed again and rested his head on the back of the couch. He had to scoot forward to do so, since he was so tall, and the movement jostled his arm and caused his ribs to ache. He didn’t wince, though—he never showed any signs of weakness around others.

Well, he tried not to, anyway; blood loss had a funny way of making his body ignore his commands.

“So, how was life on the outside?” Edward continued. “Not too good, from the looks of things.”

Jervis blinked and the cloudiness cleared from his eyes, just for a moment. “Good Lord, Jonathan, you look terrible,” he said, looking his fellow inmate up and down. “What on Earth happened?”

Both Jonathan and Edward sat up and stared at the Mad Hatter—moments of lucidity were few and far between for the smaller man, so whenever the fog left his mind they always tried to pay attention to what he had to say.

Jonathan slumped back down. “The Batman,” he spat. “Not to mention an over-zealous thug with an incredibly long knife.” His left hand absent-mindedly clutched his stomach—he could still feel the cold metal pierce his skin.

Edward’s and Jervis’s eyes widened. “Good gracious, how bad is it?” Jervis asked.

Jonathan gestured to his face and neck, which were bruised, and then he gestured to his right arm, which was wrapped in a cast and hung from a sling. “Black and blue, two broken ribs, a fractured hip, internal damage, and a broken arm,” he muttered. “I’ll be stuck here for months; I’m going to go mad.”

Edward and Jervis shared a look. All those injuries meant one thing—their friend was vulnerable to attack, and there _would_ be attacks. The infamous Scarecrow was a favorite punching bag of Arkham’s more brutish inmates, especially when he came back already battered and beaten.

Arkham was full of sharks, and once they smelled the blood they’d go into frenzy.

Jervis gently touched his fingertips to Jonathan’s shoulder and gave the taller man a reassuring smile. Jonathan allowed himself to give his friend the barest hint of a smile, which disappeared when Jervis’s bright blue eyes clouded over. “We’re all mad here,” Jervis said with an impish grin, displaying crooked and oversized teeth.

“Well, so much for that,” Edward muttered, a little sad to see the Hatter’s sanity slipping away so soon.

“How long has it been?” Jonathan asked Edward, referring to Jervis.

“Four months,” Edward answered. “It’s getting worse. Sometime he’ll say something halfway sane, but then it’s followed by utter nonsense.”

Jervis Tetch used to only have small bouts of insanity when Jonathan and Edward first met him, but over the years they’d seen madness eat away at his brilliant mind, and now they never knew when or if their friend would wake up from his dream-like state.

Edward was about to say something when an all-too-familiar cackle rang out and the Joker himself stepped in front of them, flanked by Harley Quinn. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to visit,” he chortled. “I’m offended, Scary; you don’t call, you don’t write—if I didn’t know any better I’d say you didn’t like me.”

Jonathan said nothing.

Joker held his right hand up to his ear. “What was that? Better speak up, Skinny,” he cackled.

“Joker,” said Edward, standing up and discreetly trying to place himself between Jonathan and the Clown Prince of Crime. “Always a pleasure to see you.” He nodded to Harley. “Miss Quinn, as lovely as ever.”

The Joker’s seemingly good mood slipped and he grabbed the front of Edward’s inmate uniform. “I wasn’t talking to you, Nygma! Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt someone? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” he snarled, shaking Edward.

“Puddin’, calm down!” Harley said quickly, putting a hand on the Joker’s arm. “I’m sure he didn’t mean nothin’ by it!” She gave Edward a pointed look. “ _Right, Eddie?”_

Edward nodded quickly, and then shook his head. “I meant no disrespect,” he said quickly and quietly.

Joker’s ugly frown stayed smeared across his face for another second before he burst out cackling again. He put Edward down and patted him on the head. “Sorry, Riddles, guess I lost my head there for a minute!” He laughed and turned his wide grin back to Jonathan. “See ya around, Scary.” He gave Jonathan a two-fingered salute, but as he was walking away he paused and turned back around. “Oh, and by the way, I’m not the only one who noticed you were gone. Do say hell o to our Chief of Security for me, will you?” He gave them a purely evil smile, and then held his arms behind his back and whistled as he walked away.

Jonathan blanched at the mention of Bolton.

Jervis gulped and put a hand on Jonathan’s arm. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch,” he said in a shaky voice, glancing around fearfully. That was the extent of Lyle Bolton’s reign of terror—even an insane Jervis was afraid of him.

“He’s just trying to scare you,” Edward said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice; he’d gone pale, as well.

Jonathan refrained from saying, “It worked” and forced himself to take deep, even breaths. He forced himself to say, “There’s nothing he can do that he hasn’t already done,” and then he stood up and followed two security guards back to his cell. Edward was escorted to the cell across from his, and Jervis was placed in the cell to the left of Edward. They gave him one last look, and then it was lights out.

It wasn’t long until it happened.

Jonathan heard his cell door open and heard heavy footsteps enter. His breathing quickened as he heard the unmistakable sound of a belt being unfastened and was ready for it when two large hands dragged him out of his bed and strapped the belt around his mouth. He tried to bite the hands, but the leather belt was wide enough to cover his mouth. A kick to the stomach made him grunt and curl up in a ball, but a blow to the head caused his body to recoil and straighten out. Those large hands grabbed his thin wrists and fastened them to the bed frame with handcuffs, and he forced himself not to scream as pain shot through his broken arm. He ribs ached from landing on the floor, and the fracture in his hip felt like it had broken completely. He struggled as hard as he could when he heard the sound of a zipper coming undone, but he didn’t try to scream. Even if he didn’t have the belt covering his face, he wouldn’t have screamed.

He wouldn’t give Bolton the satisfaction.

No, the belt was to keep Jonathan from biting—after all, the human jaw had enough power to strip flesh, as Bolton had learned the first time he’d tried to force Jonathan to suck him off.

Jonathan thrashed and tried to kick out when his legs were grabbed and forced apart, but they were easily pinned down, and his thrashing became more hysteric as his inmate uniform was undone.

The bastard didn’t even use lube, and Jonathan couldn’t help the small whine that escaped him. He breathed heavily through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, praying for morning to come.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so i was looking through the posted chapters and I realized I'd forgotten one.  
> this one was supposed to be nine, not eight  
> oops

 

**\- - - - - - - -**

Becca tried to forget.

She really did.

How much had the Batman told her uncle? Did he know that his niece had been protecting one of the city’s most dangerous criminals? 

Becca sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose, and her thoughts switched from Batman to the criminal she’d been protecting. It had been a week and she still though about him. She still didn’t like him—at least, she didn’t think she did. She’d just gotten used to him, and she knew that all the efforts to save him and keep him from getting hurt worse was for nothing since he’d been dragged back to Arkham Asylum.

Was he still hurting? Was the knife wound healing? Was there someone there to make sure he ate regularly?

_Why did she care?_

Becca sighed again and pulled out her phone. She flopped down on the couch in her room and dialed a number, then brought the phone up to her ear. “Hello, I’d like to speak to the head nurse, please—it’s urgent.” She was put on hold, and then, “Hey, Mabel. It’s Becca. Listen, can you do me a favor?”

 

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

“Yeesh, talk about your fixer-uppers,” Becca muttered as she pulled her black and red Yamaha R15 bike up to the front gates of Arkham Asylum. She rode up the steep path carefully and found a suitable place to park her bike. She dismounted the bike and took off her black helmet, hanging it on one of the handlebars, and combed her fingers through her hair.

The guard at the front of the building—an older guy named Joe, according to his nametag—asked her name and the purpose of her visit, and she simply told him she had an appointment and gave him her name.

“Thompson, you said?” he asked, looking through the papers on his desk. He found one and squinted at it. “Says here you’re here to see our nurse, followed by a visit to one of the inmates.”

Becca nodded. “That’s me.” She showed him her ID, and Joe informed her that he would have to send her through an x-ray and a metal-detector before she’d be allowed into the main building. She had to take off her shoes, belt, and take out her piercings—three rings and one stud in each ear, a stud in her nose, a bolt above her eyebrow, one in her tongue, one in her bellybutton, and two where she’d rather not say, thank you very much—and put them in a plastic tray (like at the airport). She walked through the x-ray machine they had and stood still with her hands spread as Joe waved a small metal detector over her.

“The inmates don’t usually get visitors,” Joe confessed as Becca fitted her last piercing back into place. “Most people avoid these crazies like the plague.”

Becca slipped on her shoes and shrugged. “I’m just here to check on someone,” she said simply. Joe told her to have a seat, and that their chief of security would be along shortly to escort her to the head nurse’s office. A few minutes later a tall, muscular (kinda hot, if you liked the big beefy type) man in a crisp guard uniform came into the office.

“Rebecca Thompson?” he asked, and she stood up. He held out a large hand for her to shake. “Lyle Bolton, chief of security. Welcome to Arkham Asylum.”

Becca smiled hesitantly. “Thanks.”

He gesture for her to follow him. “Make sure you stay close to me—every one of these scumbags is dangerous, and we wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you.”

Becca internally bristled at ‘scumbags.’ It wasn’t like these people had the choice of being crazy, after all. She kept her mouth shut, though, and followed Mr. Bolton through a series of hallways.

Mr. Bolton knocked on a door and opened it a fraction. “Miss Johnson, there’s a Rebecca Thompson here to see you.” He then waved Becca into the small clinic. “Just let us know when you’re ready for your visit and we’ll send another guard to escort you to the inmate’s cell.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“What on Earth possessed you to come here?” Mabel asked as she came around a privacy curtain. “I know you’re reckless, but . . . .” Mabel sighed. “Becca, these people are dangerous.”

Becca looked around. “I don’t see anyone dangerous.” She paused. “Unless you’ve got a knife hidden up your skirt somewhere,” she teased.

Mabel huffed and led Becca around the other side of the privacy screen. On an examination table sat a short man with sandy blond hair and crooked teeth. His eyes were a light blue and they had a slightly dazed look in them. He gave Becca a crooked grin. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he asked her, his overbite giving him a slight lisp.

Becca thought for a minute, and then shrugged. “I give up, what’s the answer?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he giggled.

“Becca, this is Jervis Tetch, one of my patients.” Mabel smiled gently at the small man. “Mr. Tetch, this is my friend Becca.”

Jervis smiled back at Mabel, not seeming to register her words at all. She helped him off the examination table and Becca had to hold back a snort of laughter at just how short he was. “What’s he in for, annoying the populace with book quotes?” she asked, a smile on her face.

Jervis gave her a weird look. “You’re awfully rude, aren’t you,” he said, and Becca swore the milky color in his eyes disappeared, just for a second, but then it was back, along with his dopey smile. Mabel bent down and ran her long manicured fingernails through his hair. “If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does,” she said before kissing him on top of the head.

Jervis’s dopey smile got even dopier. “Quite right, my dear Alice,” he sighed, and then a guard came to escort him away.

“Alice?” Becca asked, giving Mabel an incredulous look.

Mabel sighed and smiled sheepishly. “Remember when I dyed my hair blonde a few years ago?” she asked.

Becca nodded.

“That’s the year I got this job, and Mr. Tetch only ever called me Alice when we first met.” She dropped her gaze and rubbed her arms. “I never had the heart to correct him.” 

 “So you’ve just been letting a crazy man call you by the wrong name for three years?” Becca asked incredulously.

Mabel huffed. “He’s ill, Becca; he’s not in his right mind.” She spun back around to face her friend. “Anyway, I assume you’re here to see Dr. Crane?”

“You assume correctly.” A beat, then, “How is he?”

Mabel didn’t say anything.

“Wow, that bad?”

Mabel sighed and went to a filing cabinet. She opened a drawer and pulled out a file folder and leafed through it until she found Dr. Jonathan Crane’s most recent medical report. “Four broke ribs, right arm broken, right wrist broken, broken hip, internal bleeding, critical stab wound.” She closed the file. “Not to mention the cuts and bruises that seems to appear overnight.” She put the folder back in the cabinet and closed the drawer. “I’m doing my best to take care of him, but it’s never enough—he’s not getting any better, and if anything his already existing injuries keep getting worse.” She sat down heavily. “I don’t know what to do, Becca,” she admitted.

Becca sat down beside her and hugged her friend. Mabel was doing all she could, but like she said, it just wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, Becca was nervous about seeing him.

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

Jonathan was in utter disbelief when he was told he had a visitor. He was too busy thinking of who would be visiting him to notice the pain in his arm as medics fastened him in a straightjacket, but he quickly snapped out of it when the straps were tightened.

“Consider yourself lucky someone even cares about scum like you,” Lyle Bolton sneered at him as the straps were tightened even further.

Jonathan’s only though was ‘Who in their right mind would be visiting _me_?’

The inmates around him shuffled in their cells, curious about what was going on and why The Scarecrow had a visitor. They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but what they weren’t expecting was for his visitor to be a five foot girl with dark hair, an AC/DC t-shirt, ripped jeans, converse, and multiple piercings.

The girl was escorted into Jonathan’s cell, and it took him a moment to recognize her.

It was Abigail’s granddaughter, of all people.

Jonathan groaned inwardly. ‘Why me?’ he thought, looking up. ‘Of all the people in the world, why do you hate me most of all?’

By dinner, everyone would know that this little girl had come to see him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with that.’

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

“You look like shit.”

Becca mentally slapped herself. ‘Nice starter,’ she thought.

Jonathan didn’t say anything, just stared at her with the coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“That came out wrong,” she admitted.

He raised an eyebrow.

Becca sighed and leaned forward in her chair. “I came here to see how you were doing,” she said after a minute of silence. “That jackass told my uncle a big fat lie about me being drugged and held captive, and he tried to convince me I’d hallucinated the whole thing.” She cracked her knuckles and rubbed her fingers. “Mabel told me how bad it is.” She looked up at him. “She said . . . she said nothing’s healing, and that everything keeps getting worse.”

“Please stop telling me things I already know,” Jonathan snapped suddenly. “You think I’m weak, that I can’t take care of myself,” he hissed.

“That’s not it at all!” she snapped. “God, I’m trying to say I’m worried about you, and you make me out to be the bad guy!”

“I’ve told you, I don’t need your pity!” he spat and shot to his feet, then winced and fell to his knees. Becca was at his side in an instant, ignoring the medics telling her to step away. “God, I forgot how stubborn you are,” she huffed as she tried to help him up, but she must have grabbed his broken arm because he yelped—dear god, he actually yelped—and tried to twist away from her grip. She held up her hands and backed away as the medics grabbed him on either side and hefted him upright, then pushed him back onto the bed, ignoring his obvious hiss of pain.

‘They don’t care at all,’ Becca though, horrified. ‘None of these people give a damn about the patients here.’ She took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t pity you,” she said after another minute. “I know you can take care of yourself, but you have to understand—when I found you behind the Iceberg, you were almost dead.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve never seen you in good health—I’ve only ever seen you lying in a hospital bed.” She looked up then and met his gaze. “I was scared,” she said quietly. “I’m still scared; I actually care about what happens to you.”

He was silent for the longest time and Becca assumed he wasn’t going to say anything else, so she stood up and turned towards the door where Mr. Bolton was waiting to escort her out of the building.

She almost didn’t hear him when he spoke again.

“Why?”

Becca turned back around and gave him a genuine smile. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” she answered, and then she left.

 

 - - - - - -

 

 

 

 

 


	10. ten

 

**\- - - - - - - - - - - -**

Jonathan had been right. By the time dinner rolled around, everyone was giving him sideways glances and talking lowly among each other.

“My god, its high school all over,” Edward teased, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work.

“If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does,” Jervis sighed, trying to eat what was supposed to be chicken with a plastic spoon—forks had been removed when the Joker had lost his temper and stabbed another inmate. “People will talk, undoubtedly, but it only means something if you let it.”

Edward blinked. “That second part’s not from a book,” he said quietly, and he almost smiled when he saw that Jervis’s eyes were as blue and clear as a cloudless summer day.

Jervis frowned. “Well, of course it’s not—it’s from me.” He looked at Jonathan, who also looked relieved to see the Hatter lucid again. “Whatever it is you have with that girl, be it friendship or romance, people will always talk. It’s your decision to listen to them, or ignore them.” He folded his hands together. “Now then, uh, just between us,” he leaned closer. “What exactly _is it_ you have with her?”

Jonathan blinked; Jervis was extremely talkative at the moment, and none of it was nonsense. “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly, relived that his friend had a clear enough mind to ask such a personal question. “She found me while I was vulnerable, and she took care of me. It seems she’s insistent on remaining a part of my life, for whatever know reason.” A beat, then, “I owe her a Life Debt.”

Both men’s’ eyes widened. “Good gracious,” said Jervis, while Edward just gaped. “A Life Debt? Are you insane?” he hissed.

“According to the doctors here, yes,” said Jonathan dryly. He groaned and ran his left hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I can’t stand the little brat, and yet . . . .”

“She took care of you,” Jervis supplied. “She cared whether you lived or died, and she still cares.”

Jonathan nodded wordlessly, and their table fell into silence. Finally, Jonathan admitted, “I’m not quite sure where to go from here.”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.”

Jonathan and Edward both looked up, dreading what they would see. Sure enough, Jervis’s eyes had clouded over and he wore his dopey vacant grin.

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

The talking got even worse when Rebecca came back a week later during their recreational time and leaned against the back of his chair while he and Edward played a game of chess. He was so engrossed in the game he didn’t even notice her until she leaned in by his ear and said, “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Jonathan was proud of himself for not jumping in surprise. Instead, he calmly looked at her and gave her a questioning look. “How on earth did you convince security to let you in here outside of visiting hours?”

Rebecca had her hair tied back today and a few loose strands had escaped the messy ponytail. She fingered the sleeve of her purple v-neck sweater. “It pays to be rich,” she said with a smirk, tapping a pen against her faded jeans. “Apparently the guards here aren’t above a little bribery.” She glanced towards the Riddler. “Who’s your friend?”

Edward mad a ‘tut-tut’ noise. “What, no introduction?” he asked Jonathan, who glared at him.

“Rebecca, Edward. Edward, Rebecca,” he said shortly.

Edward gave Rebecca his most charming smile. “Enchante, Mademoiselle” he said in a somewhat-decent French accent.

Rebecca wasn’t impressed. She turned back to Jonathan. “So, your nickname’s the Master of Fear, right?” she asked lightly, and he gave her a look that screamed ‘duh.’ “Alrighty, then,” she said, and perched a notebook on their table next to the chess board. “I have vocab words to study for a test tomorrow—mind helping me out?”

“Why on Earth would I help you with anything?” he asked, giving her a look that said ‘go away.’

Rebecca shrugged. “Dunno, but I lost my textbook, my laptop’s busted, and my phone’s dead, so looking them up is out of the question. I remembered that you’re supposedly this grand master when it comes to fear, so I figured you’d know most of these.”

Again, he gave her a look that screamed, ‘I don’t know why you’re asking me to do this, but I want you to go away.’

Rebecca sighed. “Please?”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“Nope.”

Jonathan sighed and motioned for her to grab a chair, which she did and spun it around so she was leaning on the back of it.

“Okay, first one—umm, not sure how it’s pronounced,” she admitted.

Jonathan groaned inwardly. This was going to take forever. “Spell it,” he demanded, looking back to his and Edward’s game.

“A-G-E-T-E-O-P-H-O-B-I-A,” she recited, her pen hovering above the paper.

Jonathan almost laughed. “Ageteophobia,” he said. “Fear of insanity.”

“Sko-ly-ne-o-phobia,” Rebecca sounded out instead of spelling it.

“Scolionophobia,” he supplied. “Fear of School.”

“Is that a real thing?” she asked skeptically.

Jonathan spared her another look. “Anything can be turned into a phobia,” he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “For example, some people are afraid of eating, which would be called _sitophobia.”_

“Huh. Weird.” She looked back down at her list. “Brontophobia.”

“Fear of thunder and lightning.”

“Medomalacuphobia.”

Jonathan couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. “Fear of losing an erection.”

Rebecca snorted. “Seriously?”

Jonathan nodded.

“Okay then,” she laughed and shook her head. “Um, how about Agraphobia?”

Jonathan stiffened and froze mid-move. He only froze for a fraction of a second, though, and he quickly recovered. “Fear of sexual abuse,” he said, glad that his voice didn’t waver. Desperate for a distraction, he cleared his throat and asked, “What else?”

Rebecca chewed on the bottom of her pen. “That’s all he gave us—it’s gonna be more like a quiz than an actual test, and he only assigns five vocab words a week.” She closed her notebook and folded her arms over the back of the chair. “Can I play?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

Jonathan and Edward looked at her at the same time. “You know how to play chess?” Jonathan asked skeptically.

Becca shrugged. “Kinda,” she said.

The two geniuses shared a look. Edward clearly wanted to see what would happen, and he gave Jonathan a look that said as much. Jonathan sighed before saying, “Oh, very well.” He made his last move, capturing Edward’s queen and putting him into checkmate.

“I let you win,” Edward insisted.

“Of course,” Jonathan replied lazily, setting up the board for a new game. “Do you know the names of the pieces?” he asked Rebecca as she took Edward’s spot.

Rebecca shook her head.

Jonathan frowned. “Do you know how the pieces are allowed to move?”

She hesitated, and then nodded.

Jonathan gestured to the board. “White moves first,” he instructed. He’d never admit it, but he was looking forward to seeing what she would do. She stared at the board for a minute before moving a pawn from D2 to D4. “I can do that, right? Move the little ones two spaces?”

“Only on the first move,” Edward said when Jonathan made no move to speak. The taller man studied her move, trying to see if she had a strategy. Some would say that you couldn’t possibly tell how someone played chess just by their first move, but people like Jonathan and Edward would disagree and say that the first move was the most important, that it told a lot about their opponent. What Rebecca’s first move told him was that she was hoping to get her pawn across the board as quickly as possible; once there, she would attack his pawn on F7, and then go in for the kill.

Jonathan almost smirked as he moved his own pawn from E7 to E5, blocking any further movements from that pawn. “Your move,” he said.

Rebecca decided to move her queen, and Jonathan was surprised that she’d expose such an important piece so this early in the game. He didn’t dwell on this though, and began plotting how he would steal her queen.

‘ _Let's go in the garden, you'll find something waiting’_

The sudden noise started him and he—as well as everyone else in the room—watched Rebecca as she fished her phone out of her pocket.

_‘When you finally find it, you'll see how it's fading’_

“Crap,” Rebecca muttered before answering her phone. “Hey, Uncle B.”

Jonathan barely refrained from rolling his eyes—of course, her dear uncle was looking for her.

“No, class got out early,” she continued. “I’m hanging out with a friend.” She frowned. “What, do I have a curfew all of a sudden?” she asked sarcastically, and then got angry at his reply. “Seriously? I’m an adult, Uncle Bruce, I can take care of myself.” She took a deep breath. “Fine,” she snapped, and then ended the call. She stood up abruptly and grabbed her notebook.

“Running home to Uncle Brucey, are we?” Jonathan asked with a smirk. “Exactly how old are you, again?”

“Shut up,” Becca muttered, her face red with anger and embarrassment at being called home like a child. She muttered a quick goodbye before crossing the room to the extra security guard they’d placed by the door.

Jonathan went to move the pieces back and froze when he noticed exactly where she’d placed her queen—H5, diagonal to where his king sat undefended.

“I don’t believe it,” Edward murmured, looking from the board to the small girl being escorted from the room.

Jervis decided to leave his book and join them, and he whistled when he saw the board. “It usually takes you much longer to put Jonathan in check,” he observed, smiling his dopey smile that told them he wasn’t home right now, please leave a message.

Edward shook his head. “That wasn’t me,” he admitted.

“Pish tosh, do you see anyone else playing chess with him?” Jervis insisted. “And they call _me_ crazy,” he chuckled, wandering back to his book.

Jonathan and Edward shared a look. Their friend sounded almost sane, but he hadn’t even noticed Rebecca sitting with them for almost half an hour.

Jonathan sighed and turned his attention back to the chess board. “Beginner’s luck,” he sighed at last, and reset the board.

 

 

 - - - - - -

 

 

 

Becca got the third degree as soon as she walked through the doors of Wayne Manor. Her uncle demanded to know where she was and who she’d been with. She told him she’d been visiting a friend, and left it at that.

“Honestly, Uncle Bruce, I’m twenty-two years old—I can take care of myself!” she insisted. “Why can’t I visit my friends?”

“You were kidnapped and held hostage for three weeks, what am I supposed to think when you don’t come home?” he said tiredly.

Becca refrained from screaming that the Batman had lied to him, and that she hadn’t been held hostage at all and had willingly stayed to look after a hurt super villain. Instead she said nothing and went up to her room, locking the door before flopping down on her bed.

If he ever found out where she’d gone, he’d never let her out of the house again.

 

 

\--- - - - - -- - - -

 

 

“Whoever you keep coming back for is a lucky fellow,” Joe the security guard commented when she showed up for the third time. Becca just shrugged and went to take her shoes off. She went through the security check and gave Joe her bag to search.

“Gotta keep this up here with me,” he said, referring to her bag.

Becca frowned. “Seriously? You can’t just search it?” she asked. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Joe gave her a tired smile. “It’s not you I don’t trust—it’s them loonies; they can make a weapon out of almost anything, and you’d never see it coming.”

“He’s not a loony,” Becca muttered. “He’s just . . . different.”

Joe gave her another smile. “Ah, young love,” he said a little wistfully. “You be careful, now, honey; the human heart is a fragile thing—don’t want you getting’ hurt.”

“He won’t hurt me,” she said, her brain not processing what else he’d said. When it did, she sputtered, “No way, it’s not even like that!” It was safe to say that before Joe’s implications, the thought had never even crossed her mind. “No way in hell,” she insisted.

Joe pulled a small wrapped bag of cookies out of her purse and raised an eyebrow.

 “They’re for someone else,” she muttered, going red.

Joe just gave her a kind smile and motioned for her to wait for Mr. Bolton, and he gave her an encouraging smile when Mr. Bolton came to escort her to Dr. Crane’s cell (yes, he wasn’t a doctor anymore, but he had earned a doctorate at some point in his life, so she decided to stick to calling him that). This was her third visit, and she’d noticed something about Mr. Bolton; every single inmate she’d seen while with him had seen him and looked ready to wet themselves, including Dr. Crane and his friend.

Becca tucked that thought away as she was escorted down a hall lined with inmate cells towards Dr. Crane’s cell.

Everyone was staring at her.

Becca kept her gaze from wandering to the crazy people in plexi-glass boxes and focused on following Mr. Bolton. When they got to Dr. Crane’s cell, Becca noticed three things. One, Dr. Crane was in a straightjacket again, even though his arm was still broken. Two, he was trying his absolute hardest to look like said arm wasn’t hurting. Three, he was absolutely terrified of Mr. Bolton and the fact that the security guard was in the same room as him.

Interesting.

Becca ignored the medic standing by and sat down on the narrow bed beside Dr. Crane. “What up, Buttercup?” she asked lamely after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

Becca tilted her head. “What, buttercup? It’s just a nickname—”

“I don’t understand why you refuse to leave me alone!” he snapped, glaring at her.

Becca gulped. ‘Ooh boy, here we go.’ “I already told you—like it or not, I actually give a shit about whether you’re okay or not.”

“But why?” he insisted. “I’m a master of psychology, of finding one’s innermost thoughts and motivations and stripping them bare.” He stared at her. “You have nothing to gain by coming here, yet you insist on doing so anyway—I want to know why!”

Jonathan Crane’s patience was legendary, so to see it being unraveled so quickly was a feat in itself.

Becca did her best not to shrink away from his sharp words and cold stare. She didn’t have an answer that would make sense, so she just shrugged; even she wasn’t sure why she kept coming back. She hardly knew him, so why was she so worried about him?

“No clue,” she said again. “You’re stuck with me, though, so get used to keeping track of visiting hours.” She gave him her brightest smile.

He wasn’t impressed.

Becca tried getting him to talk, but all h did was glare at her, so eventually she got up to leave—with the promise that she’d be back, which caused his glare to intensify.

“Later, Hater,” she said with a wave, ignoring a glare so cold it would’ve made the North Pole look like a tropical island.

It was lat when Becca got home, so she said goodnight to Alfred, got a shower and changed into pajamas, dried her hair, and then went to bed.

 

 

 

  * \- - - - - - - -



_She was lying on her back, her hands clutching at sheets as warm breath ghosted across her skin. Her face flushed as wet kisses were pressed to the side of her jaw, her chin, her throat, down her chest, across her stomach, all the way down to her hips. Long, pale hands moved up and down her thighs, and those cold blue eyes never strayed from her face, even when his head dipped lower . . . . . ._

 - - - - - - - - - -

 

Becca jolted away and sat up, fighting to catch her breath. She tried taking long, deep breaths, tried to slow her erratic heartbeat. Deciding she didn’t want to go back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and wandered out into the halls of the old mansion.

“What the hell was that?” Becca muttered, not paying attention to where she was going. She ended up in the foyer and started pacing the room. “Okay, that was weird,” she said to herself. “Joe’s comment must’ve gotten too me—that’s all. There’s no way in hell I’d dream about something like that on my own, especially not about that stubborn jackass.”

Becca sighed and stopped her pacing. She leaned heavily against the first thing she saw—that antique grandfather clock. She yelped in surprise when the clock moved and she spun around, thinking she’d knocked it over.

She hadn’t.

The clock had sunken into the wall and revealed a tunnel.

An honest-to-god secret tunnel.

“Huh.” Eager to get her mind off her dream, Becca cautiously entered the tunnel.

Whatever was at the end of this tunnel, it probably didn’t beat the fact that she’d just had a goddamn sex dream about Jonathan Crane.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

It did.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

 

There was no way in hell this was her life.

Her grandmother was a mafia boss, she’d just realized she was attracted to a super villain, and to top her night off, she’d found a secret passage in her uncle’s mansion that led to a secret underground cave, filled to the brim with bat-themed weapons and gadgets, including a car.

A bat car.

The Batmobile.

Her uncle was The Batman.

_Her uncle was **The** Fucking **Batman**_ **.**

There was no way in hell this was her life.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

 


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I owned Batman or any Batman characters, I wouldn’t be writing fanfiction.

 

 

**\- - - - - - - -**

“My life sucks.”

Mabel looked up from her small desk to see Becca leaning against the doorframe. “Oh? And why is that?” the redhead asked, going back to her paperwork.

“It just does, okay?” Becca sighed. “I swear, some higher power has it out for me.” She collapsed in the chair across from Mabel’s desk and put her head in her hands. “Seriously, I just need someone to put me out of my misery.”

Mabel sighed and, realizing she wasn’t going to get any more work done, looked up at her friend. “Okay, I’ll bite—what’s wrong?”

Becca ran her hands through her hair and glanced up at Mabel. “Have you ever liked someone, but you don’t know why because really, you can’t stand them?”

Mabel blinked.

“I mean, they’re a complete jerk, and they’re arrogant and think they’re all that, and you just want to slap that stupid smirk off their face, but at the same time you care about what they think about you, and you hate seeing them in pain, but there’s nothing you can do about it because they’re stuck in a maximum security insane asylum and there’s nothing you can do!” Becca took several deep breaths and closed her eyes. “Damn,” she muttered; she hadn’t meant to say that much.

Mabel looked confused for a second before her eyes widened. “Oh my god,” she breathed, her mouth hanging open.

“Don’t,” Becca warned.

“Oh my god.”

“I mean it.”

_“Oh. My. **God.**_ ”

“Mabel, I swear to whoever’s listening, if you tell _anyone_ —”

Mabel shook her head. “Oh no, your secret’s safe with me,” she promised, leaning forward. “How long have you . . . .?”

“A while,” Becca sighed. “I have no idea when it started, but I’ve been having these stupid dreams for _weeks_ now, and they keep getting worse.”

Mabel frowned. “You’re having nightmares?” she asked.

Becca’s face reddened.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Becca muttered something too quiet for Mabel to hear.

“What?”

Becca glared at Mabel, her face growing even redder. “I said, they’re not nightmares.”

“Then what—oh. _Oh._ ”

Becca slid down in her seat. “I don’t even like the guy,” she moaned. “He’s arrogant, he’s a jerk, and he makes me want to punch something!” She rubbed her eyes and thumped her head on the back of the chair. “If it wasn’t for those three weeks looking after his sorry ass, I wouldn’t care about him at all!” She sat back up and put her head on Mabel’s desk. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Mabel tapped her nails against the desk. “Well, you could always tell him how you feel,” she suggested.

Becca raised her head. “Yes Mabel, I’m going to tell a psychopath that I want to have sex with him, because that always works out so well. Honestly, do you hear the words that come out of your mouth or is it just noise?”

Mabel huffed. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Becca sighed. “Thanks for listening.” She stood up and headed for the door, but then stopped and turned back around. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What?”

Becca tilted her head. “Lyle Bolton—creepy, or is it just me?” She glanced around the room. “The psychos are scared shitless of the dude, and I get major creep vibes from him.”

Mabel nodded. “Mr. Bolton can be a bit . . . . extreme.”

“Just be careful around him, okay? I know your uncle is his employer, but still—like I said, major creep vibes.” And with that said, Becca left the office.

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

Becca’s words stayed with Mabel for the rest of the day, buzzing at the back of her skull. She tried to brush them off, but they stayed there, and it caused her to jump when a lesser security guard came running in.

“Oh, you startled me,” she half-laughed nervously. “What can I do for you?”

The guard leaned on his knees and wheezed heavily. “Follow me, and bring a sedative.”

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

Jonathan and Edward had no idea what had set Jervis off, really. Well, actually they did. One minute he was gleefully accepting his cup of tapioca pudding from the cafeteria staff, then someone shoved passed him, causing the small plastic cup to tumble out of his hands. Jervis stared down sadly at the pudding—he wouldn’t be aloud to get another one. His head snapped up and his focus landed on whoever had run into him.

A larger inmate with salt-and-pepper hair glanced back and smirked. “What’re you lookin at, Twerp?” he sneered.

Jervis’s head tilted t the side. “The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a hot summer’s day.”

Edward noticed it first—the way Jervis’s hands were twitching at they held his tray.

“The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts, and the mad Queen said . . . .”

Jonathan noticed right after Edward and both of them took a step back.

“OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” Jervis swung his tray and slammed into the larger inmate’s face, catching him by surprise and knocking him over. Jervis straddled him and swung the tray down, again and again, screaming “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” the entire time.

The nurse appeared shortly after and two orderlies wrestled Jervis off the larger inmate while she injected him with something—most likely a sedative.

Edward and Jonathan watched as their friend was carried off, already knowing that it would be a while before they would see him again.

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

 

 

 


	12. twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING*, --- VIOLENCE AND SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER.

 

 

**\- - - - - - -**

Check-ups were routine for inmates; it hadn’t always been, but Mabel had talked to her uncle and persuaded him that it was better to keep his inmates semi-healthy. She found the odd bruise here and there, but didn’t think anything of it until she came across the same bruising in the same areas for the third time in a row.

“What on earth is causing this?” she muttered, finishing her examination of Dr. Crane. It wasn’t until guards came to escort him out of her clinic that she connected the bruising around his wrists with the way he flinched when the guards touched him. “No,” she muttered, her eyes widening. “Oh, God, no.”

Mabel felt sick. She had to sit down because she’d started shaking.

_That_ had been happening? Right here under her nose? Surely, her uncle didn’t know about this. She was convinced he was oblivious, and held onto that until she was able to confess her fear to him later in his office.

The lack of concern he showed made her stomach turn even more, and she decided then and there that she’d put an end to the problem herself if she had to. First thing’s first, though—she had to find out who was the one assaulting the inmates.

It wasn’t hard to find out, and as soon as she did she called Becca.

“We need to talk.”

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

Becca hung up the phone and swallowed the lump in her throat. She realized her hands were shaking—not from worry or sickness, but from rage.

What Mabel had told her made her feel sick. She knew there was something off about that creep, but she never fully realized just how twisted he was.

As soon as Mabel had finished telling her, they’d made plans to look further into this, so Becca stood on shaky legs and gathered what she’d need.

“Uncle Bruce, I’m going out for a while!” Becca called as she headed towards the front door.

“At this time of night?” her uncle questioned, coming out of his study. “It’ll be dark soon—where exactly are you going?”

Becca frowned gave him a pointed look “Out,” was all she said. “Or do I need your permission to go out with friends?”

Bruce gave a heavy sigh. “Just be careful,” he said at last.

“’Kay,” was all she said before she was out the door, running to the front gates where Mabel waited in her little blue car. Becca climbed into the car and held her black backpack on her lap.

“Please tell me you brought a change of clothes,” Mabel asked, glancing at Becca’s faded jeans and faded shirt.

Becca gave her a look that said ‘duh’ and motioned for her to start driving.

 

 - - - - - - -

 

Abigail was surprised when her granddaughter appeared on her doorstep. She’d grown used to the girl and missed having her around. When she asked Rebecca what prompted the visit, she was mildly surprised by her response.

“I need to go back to the Iceberg.”

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

Becca walked through the doors to the Iceberg, looking a lot more confident than she felt. She was dressed to kill in a knee-length black dress, her hair held in place with barrettes. After looking around, she spotted who she was looking for and made a beeline for them. She might have been a little too focused, because she ran into someone on her way over.

“Excuse you!” a tall blonde woman snapped, and then frowned when she got a good look at Becca. “Oh. It’s _you.”_

Becca blinked, momentarily distracted by this girl’s hostility. “Do I know you?” she asked hesitantly, giving her a quick once-over; tall, leggy, blonde hair piled on top of her head, and a light pink evening gown with a white fur shawl.

The woman’s nose crinkled, like she’d caught a whiff of something rotten. “My grandfather went to jail because of you!” she spat.

Becca was about to spit back a reply when Mabel came up behind her, dressed in a sky blue gown that matched her eyes. “Back off, Falcone,” she growled.

The woman’s frown deepened. “Make me, _Mabeline_ ,” she hissed. After a few seconds, she just turned away. “If this bitch hangs out around you, she’s obviously not worth my time,” she sniffed.

“Who you callin’ a bitch, Bitch?” Becca shot back, but Mabel dragged her away before she could punch the blonde in the face. “She’s not worth it,” said Mabel.

“Who the hell was that?” Becca asked, still confused and more than a little pissed off.

“Angela Falcone,” said Mabel. “Remember the man who tried to take you hostage?”

Becca nodded. “Carmine Falcone.”

Mabel motioned behind them towards the blonde woman. “That’s his granddaughter. Come on, we’ve still got work to do.”

They’d come to the Iceberg to talk to its owner, and they found him shortly after their run-in with Falcone’s granddaughter. “Mr. Cobblepot, may we speak with you for a moment?” Mabel asked politely, motioning towards his office. He looked momentarily confused, but noticed their grave expressions and nodded. “What can I do for you ladies?” he asked once inside his office.

Mabel nudged Becca, who took a deep breath. “Mr. Cobblepot, you know everything about everyone, in Gotham and I was hoping you could tell me about someone; I can pay you.”

The Penguin looked hesitant. “And whom are you asking about?”

“Lyle Bolton.”

 

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

 

Lyle Bolton had a set routine; get up, go to the gym for his morning work-out, go to work, grab something to eat, and then back to the gym for his evening workout. He didn’t have friends, and he didn’t have family, so nobody knew his routine, which was why never could have anticipated what happened one night while heading home from the gym.

Lyle was especially pleased with himself that night, having given that dirt bag Crane a nice, healthy beating, and had gotten a little self-gratification on the side. It sickened him to touch the scum, but it felt good to have that kind of power over someone.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he never saw the young woman waiting outside his apartment until he was already halfway to the door.

“Can I help you find something, beautiful?” he asked, because from what he could see of her face, she was beautiful. The top half of her face was covered with a white masquerade mask shaped like a rabbit’s head and her lips were painted blood-red.

She studied him, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t mildly unsettled by her random appearance and unwavering stare. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Payback.”

He’d been so focused on her, he never noticed the second woman, or the taser in her hand, until it was too late.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, we could get into so much trouble for this!”

“Just help me move him. Jesus, this guy’s like a ton of bricks. You brought the restraints, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

 

 

 - - - - - -

 

 

When Bolton regained consciousness, he was sitting in a dank windowless room with his arms chained to the wall and his legs tied together.

“Morning sunshine!” the girl with the mask popped into his line of sight.

“What the hell’s going on?” he growled, tugging at his restraints. “Who the hell are you?”

The rabbit-masked girl held out her hand, and the second girl—the one who’d tased him, who wore a bird-themed masquerade mask—handed her a crowbar. “Call me Splicer,” she said simply. “As for why you’re here, it’s simple, really—bad karma’s a bitch.” She swung down the crowbar onto one of his knees and he howled as his kneecap shattered. She did the same to his other leg, and then brought the crowbar down on his ribs. “Not very fun when you’re the one getting beat up, is it?” she said darkly, ignoring his howls of pain. “How do you think all those inmates felt when you kicked them, or held them down and forced yourself on them?” She dropped the crowbar and straddled his legs. “In fact, that brings me to part two of our game—you seem to have a little too much fun with them, don’t you?”

“What the hell do you want from me?” he asked, groaning as she rested her weight on his now-shattered knees and jerking when she reached for his belt.

“I want to go home tonight knowing you can’t abuse any more people,” she growled, undoing the button in his pants. “Rape is such an ugly word, but it fits with who you are—heartless, soulless, and ugly.” He jerked away from her touch. “Aww, what’s wrong? I thought you liked it rough? Or is that only when you’re the one being rough?” Her long nails dug into his cock and he hissed painfully.

He started hyperventilating when Bird Girl handed Rabbit Girl—Splicer—a knife.

“Certain men view their dicks as toys, and we all know what happens when little boys can’t play nice with others.” She held up the knife so he could see it before she leaned in closer.

“They get their toys taken away.”

 

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

Lyle Bolton didn’t show up for work the next day, or the day after that. It was a week before it was announced he’d been found in a basement somewhere with two broken knees, broken ribs, and severe mutilation to his male anatomy—or what was left of it, anyway.

It didn’t take long for this news to reach Edward, who didn’t know whether to feel relieved or nauseated. “Dear god, who on Earth would do that,” He wondered out loud during his and Jonathan’s next chess game.

“Whoever did it has my thanks,” Jonathan muttered.

“What up, Moon Pie?”

This time, Jonathan did jump. He turned and glared at Rebecca, who only grinned and pulled up a chair. “Whatcha talking about?”

Edward blinked. “You don’t know?”

Rebecca tilted her head. “Know what?”

“There’s a sociopath on the loose that quite a few of us owe our thanks to.”

Jonathan snorted.

“Edward frowned. “What, so you liked the routine beatings and assaults?” he hissed quietly. “Those girls made it so he can never hurt us like that again; don’t tell me you’re not the least bit grateful.”

Rebecca blinked. “Oh. You’re talking about Mr. Bolton.”

“What we were discussing is none of your business,” Jonathan snapped, trying to focus on his and Edward’s chess game. He tried to ignore the embarrassment curling inside his belly and gave Rebecca another glare, one that said ‘don’t you dare pity me.’

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Relax, Bean Pole, there’s absolutely no pitying going on here,” she huffed, standing up to leave. Before she left, she put a hand on his arm and said “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It wasn’t hard for either of them to process what those two words meant and they openly gawked at the petite girl leaving the room.

“Did she . . . . ?” Edward trailed off, not sure how to phrase his question. ‘ _Did she mutilate Bolton?’_

“Just when I think I’m beginning to understand that girl, she manages to surprise me,” said Jonathan, not even thinking about how she’d found out in the first place.

 

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

 

_She should have felt nervous—nervous that her uncle would come home, would catch them, would call the police and have him taken away. She wasn’t, though, and moaned as his hands slid up her waist. He was right there, nestled between her thighs, his cock brushing her opening. She moaned again at the sensation. “For Christ’s sake, just do it,” she groaned._

_He chuckled lightly and teased her nipples with those long, thin fingers, his nails pinching slightly. “Patience, child,” he crooned. “All good things to those who wait.”_

_“Not a child,” she muttered. “If I was, you’d be in some serious shit right about nAAAHHH!!” she cried out as he finally shoved his way inside her. “Holy SHIT,” she moaned, moving her hips up to meet his. Everything was oversensitive, and as he rocked against her she felt heat coiling inside her, she felt like she was going to burn alive—_

Becca startled awake, sweaty and shaking.

“Holy shit.”

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

“These goddamn dreams are getting worse,” Becca said without preamble as she walked into Mabel’s clinic. “Now it’s not just implied that we’re getting ready to fuck, no, now there’s full-on dialogue, and we actually get to the fucking, and _on my uncle’s desk_ and it felt so goddamn real . . . . .” She trailed off as she realized Mabel had a patient in the clinic.

Dr. Crane.

 “Don’t mind him, he’s just here for a flu shot,” said Mabel, sticking the doctor with a needle as she said it. “On your uncle’s desk, huh? That’s risky, even for you.”

“I am SO not talking about this with HIM here,” Becca groaned, her face flushed.

Dr. Crane looked unimpressed. “Nice to know you’re not above such base instincts,” he said dryly.

“Oh, like you’ve never woken up with a boner before?” she shot back. This comment made her think about her dream again and her face got redder, because god _damn_ if he was anywhere near that size in real life then that would _hurt_.

“Children, play nice,” Mabel chided, taping a piece of gauze to Dr. Crane’s arm. “There, all done.” She went to the front of the clinic to get the guard they’d sent him in with, and for a few painful moments Becca was left in the same room with the man she’d just dreamed had _fucked her on her uncle’s desk_ and wow, was it hot in here or what?

Dr. Crane was escorted out of the clinic and Becca slumped against the examination table, willing the blood to drain from her face. “You could have warned me,” she hissed as Mabel came back in the room.

“It’s not like he knows,” the nurse said. “Besides, you’re the one who just came running in here, not looking to see if it was safe to talk.”

Becca muttered something incoherent, not looking up from the floor.

 

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

 

 y.


	13. thirteen

 

 - - - - - - - --

“Can I ask you something?”

Alfred paused in his task of polishing silverware and looked up at Becca, who stood in the doorway and fidgeted nervously. “I believe you just did,” he said dryly.

Becca rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious. I’m serious, Alfred—I need help, and I don’t feel comfortable talking to Uncle Bruce about this.”

Alfred motioned for her to continue, picking up where he left off.

Becca took a deep breath. ‘Now or never,’ she thought. “I’ve already talked to my friend about this, but I need a guy’s opinion, since it’s about a guy.”

Alfred blinked and paused in his polishing. “Oh?” was all he said.

“Okay, here’s the thing—something happened when I . . . when I was kidnapped, and I kind of met someone. At first, he was a pain in my ass, but now I think I kind of like him, but at the same time I can’t stand him.” There was no way in hell she was mentioning the dreams she’d been having. “He’s a jerk, and has this ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude, but at the same time I wanna give it a shot and see if he feels the same way, which I already know he doesn’t, but maybe with enough time he’d kind of start to like me? I don’t know, I’ve been spending a lot of time around him, and these . . . these feelings are getting worse, and I don’t know what to do,” she finished hopelessly. “Help?” she pleaded softly.

“I see,” he said. “I hope you’re not planning on kidnapping the poor lad and hoping to  induce Stockholm Syndrome,” he deadpanned, polishing a fork.

“I can honestly say that thought never crossed my mind.” She hung her head and cracked her knuckled. “Though, I did do something kind of bad because of him— _for_ him, really.”

“How bad?”

“Bad. Like, ‘I could get arrested if I ever got caught’ bad. I did it to help him, though, and I just want him to know that despite everything, I really do care about him.” She looked up through her bangs. “I’m scared, Alfred,” she said in a small voice.

Alfred put aside the now polished fork and the rag he’d been using. “This thing you did, you won’t get caught, will you?”

“I shouldn’t… I think.”

For a brief second Becca could have sworn she saw relief wash over Alfred’s face before it once again went blank. “Miss Thompson, may I ask why you decided to come to me for help?”

Becca bit her lower lip. “Because I know you can keep a secret? Because I know you won’t judge me.”

“I see.” A beat, then, “In my experience, it’s best to simply cast the dice and see where they fall. Perhaps you’ll get a winning roll, perhaps not.”

Becca tilted her head. “So, basically, you’re saying ‘go for it.’”

“What I’m saying is you’ll never know unless you take that chance.”

Before Alfred could move, Becca was clinging to him like her life depended on it. She’d never felt especially close to her uncle, but she had always liked Alfred, and now she held onto that connection like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she said, her words muffled by his shoulder. Alfred simply put a hand on her shoulder, which was as much affection she was going to get out of the old man.

As she let go and turned around to leave the room, she pause when Alfred asked, “This ‘bad thing’ you did—it wouldn’t happen to be related to the fact that two of your uncle’s collector’s ball masks went missing a few nights ago, would it?”

Becca swore softly. “You noticed that, huh?” she asked sheepishly.

“I _am_ the one who dusts them, after all, Whatever you’ve done or plan to do, just be careful.” And that was all he said on the matter.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

Mabel fidgeted nervously behind her desk, jumping at every noise. Now that she’d had time to really think, she realized just how much trouble she and Becca would be in if they were ever linked to Bolton’s capture and torture. She hadn’t really done anything other than taze him, but she was still an accomplice to a crime.

Mabel jumped when someone knocked on her door. “C-come in,” she called in a shaky voice.”

Becca poked her head in the office. “Hey,” she greeted, then looked closer at her friend. “You okay?”

“No, Becca, I am not okay,” Mabel answered honestly. “I’m an accomplice in a crime, in which serious and permanent injury was done to another human being.”

“Don’t tell me you feel sorry for that prick,” Becca said immediately, sitting down in the chair in front of Mabel’s desk. “The guy was a psycho, he deserved what he got.”

“For god’s sake, Becca, you cut off the man’s penis,” she hissed. “I don’t think _anyone_ deserves that!”

Becca gawked. “So, what, now you’re defending what he did?” she asked incredulously.

“No,” Mabel sighed, running her hands through her hair. “Nobody deserves _that_ , either, but maybe we could’ve handled the situation differently. Maybe we could have just reported him to the police.”

Becca raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? Have you _seen_ Gotham’s police force? Half of them wouldn’t give a shit, and the other half would probably just encourage the bastard.” She leaned forward. “That man will have to walk with a cane for the rest of his life; he’ll never be able to abuse anyone ever again. You said it yourself, Mabel—he beat them, he tied them down, _he raped them_. Don’t you feel better now that you know for certain he’ll never hurt anyone again?”

Mabel sighed again. “Lately, all I’ve felt is nauseous.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, subject change—how are things with you and Dr. Crane?”

Becca grimaced. “I’d rather keep talking about Bolton,” she confessed.

“That bad, huh?”

“I went to _Alfred_ for help; it’s bad.” She paused. “I think he knows what I did,” she confessed.

Mabel blanched.

“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t rat on me,” Becca assured her. “Believe me, the guy knows how to keep a secret. That’s why I asked him for advice.”

“And?”

“And, basically, he told me that if I don’t look at my cards, I won’t know my hand, or something like that . . . something about gambling, anyway.”

“So his advice was to . . . . ?”

Becca sighed. “I told him that I liked someone, and he basically told me to go for it.”

“Does he know that the person you like is a psychotic masked villain and asylum patient?”

“Nope.”

Mabel made a ‘ta-da’ motion with her hands. “Well, there you go, that’s why.”

“He’s right, though,” said Becca, speaking slowly, as if she’d just realized something. “If I never take that chance, I’ll never know.” She looked up at Mabel and stood up abruptly. “I gotta go,” she said quickly, and then hurried out of the office.

Mabel swore and got up quickly to follow Becca. “Becca! Becca, wait!” she waved the security guard away as she followed her friend down the hall. She finally caught up to the shorter girl right outside the recreation room. “Becca, what the hell are you doing?!” she asked, grabbing her friend by the arm.

“I’m gonna tell him,” said Becca breathlessly. “I’m gonna tell him everything and pray to god he doesn’t murder me in my sleep.”

“So, what, you’re going to just confess that you love him?”

“It’s not love,” Becca snapped. “I don’t know what the hell this is, but it sure as hell isn’t love, and maybe that’ll work in my favor.

“Not Love? Not lo— _you castrated someone for him,_ ” Mabel hissed quietly. “And don’t tell me it wasn’t because of him, because we both know that’s a lie.”

Becca swallowed and refused to meet the redhead’s gaze. “It’s not love,” she said again, quieter. “It can’t be.”

“How do you know?” asked Mabel gently. “Have you ever been in love before?”

Becca shook her head.

Mabel took her gently by the arm and steered her to the side of the hall. “Then how do you know for sure?”

Becca’s jaw clenched, which told Mabel her friend was doing her best not to start crying right there in the hallway. “It can’t be,” she repeated, her voice wavering. “Because if it is, I’m screwed.” She motioned hopelessly with her hands. “I don’t know how to deal with this. These feelings, these stupid fucking dreams, any of it! Fuck, I’ve never even . . . .” she trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. “All of my dreams have been my brain playing one big guessing game, because I’ve never actually. . . . .”

“You’ve never had sex,” Mabel said quietly.

Becca shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “He’s, what, in his forties? He’s probably had, like, a million women, and I’m just . . . . me; Early twenties and still a goddamn _virgin_.”

Mabel looked around to make sure there was nobody around. That was one of Becca’s flaws—she’d get so worked up over something that words would just start spilling out, no matter where she was or who might be listening. Luckily, nobody was within hearing distance, though Mabel could still see the recreation room clearly.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Mabel said gently, putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “It just means you’re waiting for the right person.” She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, then looked back at her friend. “You’re saving yourself for someone special, and I wish like hell that I’d done that. Instead, like an idiot, I fell into bed with the first guy who complimented me. I thought we’d be together forever, get married, and grow old together. He kicked me out as soon as it was over.”

Becca winced. “Ouch,” she said quietly.

Mabel gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.” She ran her hands down Becca’s arms and grasped her hands. “I mean this, Becca, from the bottom of my duct-taped and super-glued heart—” That got a laugh from Becca—“If you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you, but you really need to think about it before you do something that can’t be undone. Got it?”

Becca nodded and squeezed Mabel’s hands. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

Mabel smiled. “Good.” She gestured towards the recreation room. “Now then, I believe you were about to proclaim your undying love for our resident Master of Fear?” she asked, making an over the top gesture.

Becca snorted and punched Mabel in the shoulder. “You’re hilarious,” she said dryly, looking towards the rec room. There he was, sitting in his usual place, playing his usual game of chess and looking bored out of his mind, as usual. Becca’s throat went dry and she smiled slightly as her stomach did summersaults, as it did every time she looked at him now. Her smile vanished when he looked up and she saw just how cold and empty his stare was.

Just then, she had an epiphany.

Jonathan Crane was cold, calculating, and a complete and utter bastard. If she told him the truth he’d either be disgusted or twist her feelings to his benefit. Either way, it would hurt.

“He’s never going to love me, is he?” she asked, smiling sadly.

Mabel gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Probably not,” she said truthfully.

Becca let out a shaky breath, and then looked back at her friend. “I think I’ll hold off on that confession,” she said.

Looking at him and knowing he’d never feel the same was painful, but she guessed it was less painful than a broken heart.

“Are you going in there, or should I clock out early? We could catch a movie,” Mabel suggested.

Becca smiled. “A movie sounds good.” And with that, she followed Mabel back to her office.

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“What on Earth was that all about?” Edward wondered out-loud, watching Rebecca and the nurse walk away.

“No idea,” said Jonathan, feeling relieved he didn’t have to deal with Rebecca at the moment. There was another feeling curling in his stomach, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

It had been odd—they’d seen Rebecca approach the recreation room with a determined look on her face, then the nurse had stopped her and pulled her aside. They talked for a few minutes, and then they walked away.

It wasn’t until later, while he was back in his cell, that Jonathan put a name to the unknown feeling.

Disappointment.

 

 

  - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had so many feels writing this.


	14. fourteen

 - - - - - - - - - -

“Aaaand it’s back to school,” Becca muttered as she and Mabel walked down the halls of Gotham University. “The weekends definitely need to be longer,” she muttered as she stopped to adjust her backpack.

Mabel pursed her lips. “I don’t know, I kind of like the environment,” she said, clutching a book to her chest.

 “The environment is sitting in uncomfortable chairs connected to small-ass desks with gum stuck to the undersides, while listening to a lecture that may or may not be good… followed by homework and mystery meat that’s not even meat. I don’t get the appeal," said Becca, fiddling with her eyebrow stud. This drew Mabel’s attention.  Mabel rolled her eyes as Becca accidentally took the back off. “Why do you wear so many piercings?” the redhead asked.

Becca shrugged. “Dunno. Mom was a strict-rules bitch, so the minute I turned 18, I got a shitload of piercings and a few tattoos, just to piss her off.”

Mabel paused. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” she said, momentarily distracted.

“I don’t advertise them,” was all the smaller girl said.

“Oh.”

Becca thought that was the end of their conversation, but a minute later Mabel said “You know, if you didn’t have so much metal in your face, you’d look a lot better.”

Becca frowned and opened her mouth to argue, but Mabel held up her hand. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, I swear.” She smiled softly. “I’m just saying that without all the metal, people could see what a pretty face you have.”

Becca ducked her head, her face reddening. “Thanks, I think,” she muttered. They parted ways, Mabel to her biology class and Becca to the paint shop to put in some hours for her Individual Performance in theatre. She dropped her stuff off on a seat in the front of the auditorium, then hopped on stage and went to work painting. While the IP students painted the set for the University’s latest play, the Director sat with the stage managers and listened to people audition  near by. It was a musical, so they had to pick a song for their audition. One of Becca’s classmates heard her singing along quietly to one of the auditions and nudged her. Becca looked up, startled.

“You should try out,” he said, smiling.

Becca gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, okay, I’ll get right on that.” She said sarcastically.

“Hey, I mean it,” he said, his sandy blond hair flopping in his eyes.

Becca paused. “Really?” she asked, blushing slightly.

He nodded and held out his right hand. “I’m Josh, by the way,” he said, giving her a crooked grin.

Becca smiled back hesitantly. “Becca,” she replied, and then groaned when she realized she had gotten paint on his hand. “I am so sorry,” she apologized while Josh just laughed and wiped his hand off on his smock. “It’s cool,” he assured her “you’ll just have to be on high alert until you die, because I’m a master at paint wars….and you attacked first” he joked. Becca smirked and splattered him with the tip of her brush. They spent the rest of the class talking— “I’m actually a little scared of passing my Shakespeare class, the teacher doesn’t help much, and honestly I don’t get the appeal.” “Really? I think he’s kinda cool.” “Yeah, his ideas are cool, but nobody knows what he’s trying to say or at least I don’t.”—until finally, class was over and Becca bid Josh goodbye. She met up with Mabel for Psychology of Fear, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice that she was still blushing.

She did.

During class, Mabel scribbled _what happened?_ On a piece of paper and slid it towards her friend.

Becca chewed on her pen before writing back **nothing.**

_Liar._

**How the hell would you know?**

_You’re Blushing._

**So?**

_So, something happened. Spill._

**. . . .**

_C’mon, spill!_

**. . . . I think I kinda flirted with this guy in my class**  
_Seriously? That’s great!_

**What? How is that great?**

_Not to be mean, but this is what you need—a normal guy, close to your age, interested in the same stuff as you. Are you gonna talk to him tomorrow?_

**Yes. No. I don’t know. And what the hell do you mean ‘this is what I need?!’**

_You know exactly what I mean._

**Enlighten me.**

_I’m talking about your crush on Dr. Crane. It’s not healthy._

**You think I don’t know that? You think I wanna be attracted to a forty-something year old nutcase?**

_I never said that. All I said was that it’s good you have a guy to talk to who’s a little more available._

**Whatever.**

“I mean it,” said Mabel at the end of the class. “You need to focus on someone other than Dr. Crane, because you and I both know that’ll never happen; you said so yourself the other day, remember?”

“Yeah,” Becca muttered as she put away her notebook.

“Just talk to him again and see if you like him enough to go for it,” Mabel urged.

“Okay, okay,” Becca sighed. “Jeez, first the piercings, now my love life, what are you, my mother?”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

 

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

 

The next day, Becca was surprised to find a manga titled “Shakespeare’s Macbeth” on her desk with a note that read ‘maybe this’ll help you understand Shakespeare a little better. I’ve got more if you’re interested’ taped to the front. She flipped through a couple of pages, looking them over.

It actually looked halfway interesting.

Becca tucked the comic in her bag, making a mental note to stop by the library later to read it.

 

 - - - - - - -

 

 

“Holy shit,” Becca muttered quietly as she turned another page, not even noticing Mabel sitting down beside her.

“What’re you reading?” Mabel asked.

“Macbeth,” Becca replied absent-mindedly.

Mabel blinked. “No, seriously,” she insisted.

Becca bookmarked her page, closed the graphic novel, and held it up so Mabel could see the cover. “Seriously.” She put the book down. “Did you know it’s about a guy’s wife convincing him to commit murder?”

Mabel frowned. “Well, yeah, but there’s more to it than that,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“I know, but that’s the basic plot—a guy hears a prophecy from witches that says he’ll be king. He tells his wife about the prophecy, she has him commit murder, he becomes king, and then goes crazy from guilt. His wife kills herself, and then he gets killed by this other guy, who then becomes king.”

Mabel gaped. “Macbeth is 228 pages long. You just summed it up in three sentences.”

“Well if they’d just say what they mean, it’d be a lot shorter,” said Becca. “It also helps when there are pictures,” she added, flipping to a page near the middle. “I had no idea that the ‘horses eating each other’ thing was literal. I also never realized just how fucking crazy Lady Macbeth was.”

“She was ambitious,” Mabel defended. “Lots of people are.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between ‘ambitious’ and ‘pschycotic bitch.’”

“Says the woman who cut off a man’s—”

“Hey, that was for a totally different reason!”

 

 

 

\- - - - - - -- - -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person Becca is based off had a hard time understanding Macbeth when we read it in high school, but then she understood it when her college performed a play called Bright Ideas. I’ve never seen Bright Ideas, though, so I made Becca understand it the same way I did—through a series of Shakespeare-related mangas.


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so we’re clear, this version of Bruce Wayne is base on Christian Bale’s performance in the Nolan trilogy.

 

 - - - - - - - -

 

 

Jonathan had a problem.

Finally out of Arkham after months of biding his time and he was already being threatened at gunpoint.

The reason for it was ridiculous—a business partner of his needed him to crack a security code, and when he did he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Doctor Crane, but I’m afraid this is where your usefulness ends.”

People were so predictable. So obvious.

So dull.

Luckily, he’d been prepared for a double-crossing and had set the entire warehouse to fill with toxic gasses at the snap of his fingers. He was about to pull the trigger when the Batman swooped in, and he watched from the shadows as his ‘business partners’ were beaten to a bloody pulp before releasing the toxins into the air. While everyone was gasping for air, he made his getaway and was now catching his breath several streets over—running didn’t usually bother him, but he was out of practice.

So.

Jonathan was provided with a puzzle; there were men out for his blood, for a code too long to memorize, and he had nowhere safe to keep it.

Or did he?

Jonathan straightened and tore off his mask, quickly shedding his costume to reveal civilian clothes underneath. He stuffed the costume in a duffel bag and walked for several blocks, all the while glancing down at the scrap of paper in his hands. Eventually he came across a small shop and he entered, going almost unnoticed by the store’s clerk until he started looking at the jewelry cases.

“May I help you?” the clerk, a middle-aged woman in a business suit asked.

‘Obviously,’ Jonathan thought, but kept that to himself. “Ah sure hope so, Ma’am,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck and giving the woman a crooked smile. “Ah was actually hopin’ to take a look at yer lockets, if yeh had any,” he said, easily slipping into the southern Georgia drawl of his childhood.

The woman gave him a gentle smile. “Of course,” she said kindly, and Jonathan almost smirked. “What’s her style preference?”

Jonathan blinked. “Pardon?” he asked, his accent almost slipping.

The woman smiled again. “Well, if you’re looking for a locket, it’s obviously for a woman. Your mother, perhaps, or some special young lady who’s caught your eye,” she continued.

So the woman wasn’t as much of an idiot as he’d originally thought.

Jonathan gave her his best sheepish grin and forced himself to blush. “Guilty as charged, Ma’am,” he said. “Ah have to admit, though, these aren’t really her style.”

They were all too . . . . delicate.

The clerk wore a thoughtful look before gesturing for him to wait right there. She came back with a gold oval locket an inch wide and a little over an inch tall. Resting on the front of the locket was a small jeweled owl with large topaz eyes.

Perfect.

Before the woman could blink, Jonathan had his hands wrapped around her neck. He squeezed until she lost consciousness, and then grabbed the locket from where it had fallen. He held it up to the light, examining it.

Yes, this would do nicely.

Jonathan strolled out of the shop, pulling a small scrap of paper out of his pocket as he did so. He popped the locket open and placed the paper inside, then snapped the locket shut.

Yes, Jonathan Crane had a very important piece of information he needed to hide, and he knew just where to put it.

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

“What the hell do you mean he’s gone?!”

Edward hardly flinched. “I mean just that; he’s gone.”

Becca sighed irritably. “Great. Fan-Fucking-Tastic. Thanks for nothing,” she muttered, turning around and leaving the recreation room.

“I told you,” Mabel said as she joined her friend. “He escaped a few nights ago when the guards were changing shifts. The Joker blew a hole in the wall and escaped, and Dr. Crane used the confusion to just . . . . vanish.”

Of course he did—that was something convicts did, wasn’t it?

 

 

\- - - -- - -- --

 

 

Jonathan found her walking back through the city, back towards her uncle’s mansion. He caught her alone on her way down the street and she almost screamed as she was yanked into a side alley, until she noticed who had yanked her off the street. “Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that,” she hissed.

“I have a job for you,” he said without preamble.

She crossed her arms. “Yeah? Why should I? Obviously, you’ve got ways in and out of a maximum security asylum, surely the almighty Scarecrow can find someone else to run his errands.”

Jonathan wasn’t blind. He knew that by society’s standards, Rebecca was attractive—or had the potential to be, anyway, if she weren’t advertising a body piercing shop.

He also wasn’t stupid.

Oh yes, he knew all about her little infatuation with him, and he planned to use that to his advantage. Not giving her time to protest, Jonathan stepped into her personal space. He took hold of both her hands with his. “I _need_ you to do this for me,” he said in a low voice, giving her what he hoped was a heated look and hoping that she would respond positively.

She did.

Rebecca’s pupils were blown wide and her pulse galloped under his touch. He pulled the owl locket from his pocket and lowered into her hands, closing her fingers over it. He leaned in closed until his mouth brushed her ear. “Keep it safe,” he said quietly.

Rebecca swallowed and nodded hesitantly, looking down at the locket in her hands. “What’s so special about it?” she asked, looking up again only to find herself standing in an empty alley. She realized then that he’d played her, and she yelled, “Damn it, Crane, I’m not your errand girl!” before dropping the locket to the ground. She walked back towards where she came in, but stopped and looked back at the locket. She sighed and muttered a few choice words before begrudgingly going back to the locket and picking it up.

“Stupid hormones,” Becca muttered, fastening the locket chain around her neck, and then leaving the alley.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

“What’s so special about you?” Becca said quietly, turning the locket over in her hands while sitting in the middle of her bed. She popped the locket open and a small folded piece of paper fell out. She picked it up and unfolded it.

Numbers; a string of numbers, to be exact, written in small neat handwriting. “What the hell?” Becca muttered, thinking of how she’d gotten the locket in the first place.

‘ _Keep it safe.’_

There was a purpose to everything Dr. Crane did, so these numbers must’ve been what he wanted her to keep safe.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts and she quickly folded up the paper and stuffed it back inside the locket. “Come in.”

Her uncle opened her door and peered in, and Becca fought the urge to throw something at him—her usual reaction to him ever since she learned his secret (She was family—why didn’t he just tell her instead of lying to her face? Seriously, all it would take was three little words—“I’m the Batman.” That’s all she needed).

Hey, Uncle B,” she greeted. “Need something?”

Her uncle nodded once. “Actually, I was hoping you would do me a favor.”

Becca motioned for him to continue.

Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m heading to a charity auction, and I was hoping you’d accompany me.” He took a few more steps in her room.

Becca said nothing.

“Look, I know I’m not the easiest person to live with. I realize that maybe you’re not happy here, but it really would mean a lot to me if you decided to come. If you do decide to come, I’ve already taken the liberty of finding you a dress. I’m leaving in a few hours.” He turned around to leave the room, but stopped when Becca spoke up.

“Why?”

Bruce turned his head and gave her a genuine smile. “Because family is all we have,” was all he said before leaving the room.

Becca sighed and flopped backwards onto her pillows.

After everything he’s done, why should she? True, he didn’t know that she knew, but she was still mad at him. She understood the need for secrecy, but she wished her uncle had a little more trust in her. She wished he’d just stop lying to her and admit that yes, she’d been gone for three weeks of her own free will and had cared for and grown to love a super villain.

Damn it, why did all her thoughts go back to _him?!_

So.

Becca had two choices; sit there all night and thing about a man that would never truly care about her, or go to some boring social function and probably try to get at least buzzed from expensive champagne.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

 

The news reporters were having a field day.

This auction was one of the biggest events of the year, and not only had Bruce Wayne showed up, he’d managed to coax out his reclusive niece.

The next day’s newspapers would be covered in photographs of uncle and niece, he in a well cut tuxedo and she in a knee-length black dress, her hair swept into an up-do and a small amount of mascara and lipstick making her normally pretty face look stunning.

Becca posed for as many pictures as she could stomach and then politely excused herself to search for a little Liquid Courage. As she stood to the side and sipped champagne, she^ surveyed the crowed around her. Upper Crust, rich and well-to-do men and women filled the room, and Becca could’ve choked on the heavy air of pompousness that clogged the room. “Somebody shoot me,” she muttered.

“Given what happened the last time you were seen at a party, I’d choose my words a little more carefully.”                                                                                                                   ^

Becca almost dropped her drink as she turned around. “Holy crap.”                                  ^

“Surprised to see me?”

Becca nodded. “I can honestly say I did not expect to see you here. That being said, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked incredulously.

Josh grinned, bringing his own drink up to his lips. “What can I say; it’s a small world ^ after all.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Becca laughed, still stunned. “Seriously, this is, like, major exclusive, ^ how did you even get in?”

Josh shrugged. “You’re not the only college student around here with a rich family.”

“Yeah, I figured as much—I just didn’t have you pegged as a Rich Boy,” she snarked back.

“That’s kinda the point—I don’t advertise it,” Josh said back, his tone playful.

Becca looked him up and down and couldn’t help but notice just how good he looked in a tux. “This is a good look for you,” she admitted. “Weird, since I’m used to seeing you^ in a paint-splattered smock, but definitely good.”

Josh pretended to look offended. “What, you don’t like my smock?” he teased. ^

Becca held up a hand. “No, no, I like it,” she assured him, giving him a playful smile. “Rest assured your smock is very sexy.”

Josh gave a soft laugh. “The same could be said for you, you know,” he said. “Granted, the make-up threw me for a loop, since the only thing I see on your face is usually paint,” he teased right back.                                                                                                             

“Which do you prefer, then—make-up or paint?” Becca asked.                                        

Josh stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Not gonna lie—the make-up’s a little weird; I like it.” He took another sip of his drink. “Between you and me, though, I like a girl who’s not afraid to get a little dirty,” he said with a wink.

Becca blushed and ducked her head, biting her lip nervously. Her hand trailed down to where the owl locket rested in the hollow of her throat. She fingered the locket, thinking about everything that had happened to her since moving to Gotham. Making up her mind, she gave Josh her best smile. “Hey, Josh?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

Becca bit her lip and moved her hand away from the locket. It was now or never.

“You wanna get out of here?”

Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Um. Okay.”

“I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought—you know what, forget it; it was stupid,” Becca muttered, grabbing another drink and downing it in one gulp.

“Whoa there, take it easy,” Josh said slowly, reaching for her now-empty glass. “I happen to know the people providing the booze, and their stuff is pretty strong.” He put the glass back on the table and took one of her hands in his. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to leave this party with you right now,” he answered honestly.

Becca sensed a ‘but’ coming.

“But . . . .”

Yep, there it was.

“Unfortunately, my parents would kill me if I tried to leave tonight,” Josh sighed.

Becca nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly. She expected that to be the end of it.

What she didn’t expect was for Josh to squeeze her hand and say. “My schedule _tomorrow_ , however, just so happens to be open.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I would love to take you to dinner, and maybe even a movie, if you felt like it. I’d love to get to know you better.”

Becca blushed and ducked her head.“Same here.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question—what do you call a love triangle when one side of it is one-sided?


	16. sixteen

 

\- - - - - - - -

Becca had a date. An honest-to-god dinner-and-a-show, pick you up at seven, kiss you goodnight (maybe) date, and she hadn’t been on one of those since high school.

Needless to say, she was a little rusty and maybe kind of sort of just a little bit nervous.

“What’s the big deal?” Mabel asked her after Becca filled her in. “The way you tell it, you were ready to jump him at the auction—an ordinary date doesn’t even compare.”

“I’ve been on a total of three dates in the last four years and none of them ended well,” said Becca before processing all of what Mabel said “And I. . . wait what? I wasn’t gonna jump him… how did you even …There was no jumping! Seriously, though, what the hell am I even gonna wear?”

 “Clothes?”

“Well, you’re no help!” Becca sighed. “Ok, what about these?” Becca showed Mabel  a pair of black skinny jeans. “I think they make my legs look good…or maybe—”

Mabel stopped her there “Becca the skinny jeans are fine” she said with a small smile as  Becca  pulled out a black spaghetti strap shirt “But with that, You’re going to freeze.” “Okay, _Mom…_ ” Becca replied and went to grab her purple V-neck sweater “There, happy?”

“You’ll thank me later,”Mabel replied, handing her  a pair of black flats.

“What’s wrong with my converse?”

“No.”

“But—”

“NO.”.

Becca checked over her look a couple more times in the mirror as she waited for Josh, she had been mortified at the thought of Josh coming to Wayne Manor to pick her up, especially since this was one of her uncle’s nights in, but he’d insisted, and at eight pm on the dot, the intercom for the front gates buzzed.

“Please don’t be all over-protective, creepy or weird,” Becca begged her uncle, who’d been asking her all day about ‘that boy from the auction.’

“Oh don’t worry, all I have planed is a little speech about threatening to have him arrested if he breaks your heart. That doesn’t count, does it?” He asked jokingly.

“Yes that counts! And why do I feel that that wasn’t actually a joke?”

She got no reply.

Becca realized she forgot her wallet and ID up in her room, so she ran off to get it really fast. “Don’t scare him off,” she warned her uncle, and then she was running up the stairs. A few moments later Alfred let in a boy Becca’s age with sandy blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-up shirt.

Bruce stood before this boy and offered a hand in greeting. “I’m assuming you know who I am,” he said as this boy—Josh—shook his hand.

“Yes, Sir,” Josh said.

“Good. You’ll know, then, that any threat I may make to ensure my niece’s happiness won’t be a threat—it’ll be a promise. I am very well connected in this city, young man, and if you make her unhappy in any way know that I will not hesitate to use those connections to make your life a living hell. Do we have an understanding?”

Josh nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

Bruce smiled. “Excellent.”

“Uncle Bruce, I told you not to do that…,” Becca sighed as she came back down the stairs.

Bruce, never taking his eyes off of Josh, said, “I’m only having a friendly conversation with this young man, that’s all.” He looked to Becca. “I’m assuming you’ll be home at a reasonable time?” he enquired.

Becca refrained from rolling her eyes. “You assume correctly,” she said.

“Alright, then, have a good time.”

As soon as they were out the door, Bruce headed for the Batcave to run a background check on Josh.

 

 

\- - - - - -- -

 

“So, that was terrifying,” said Josh as they walked out to his car. “Nothing I can’t handle, since my family would probably murder him if he tried anything, but still terrifying.”

Becca snorted. “Who’s your dad, the Godfather?” she asked jokingly.

Josh shrugged. “Nah, nothing like that. I do have a grandfather who goes by ‘The Roman,’ though,” he said off-handedly.

“Never heard of him,” said Becca as they reached the car. “So, where are we going?”

“Dinner and a movie?” Josh suggested.

“Sure. What movie are we seeing?”

Josh smiled. “Ever seen Star Trek?”

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

Bruce had found Joshua in the College’s database. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together as if in prayer and stared at Joshua’s name on the screen.

Joshua Brian Booker, early twenties, three point five GPA, volunteers at the local soup kitchen on the weekends.

Nothing suspicious about him at all.

Of course, this only fueled Bruce’s suspicion. He dialed an almost-forgotten phone number and waited for the other end to answer.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answered on the fifth ring.

“I need you to do something for me,” Bruce said without preamble. “Rebecca’s gone out for the evening, most likely to the movies. I need you to follow her and make sure she’s alright.”

A groan, followed by “Are you serious? You woke me up to follow your niece? I don’t even work for you anymore,” the voice groaned.

“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important—I just want to make sure the boy she’s with isn’t a threat,” said Bruce.

“Yeah? Who’s the guy?”

“Joshua Booker. He’s a student at the University, but there’s something about him I don’t trust,” said Bruce.

A sigh, then, “Fine,” and then they hung up.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

“Okay, that was pretty cool,” Becca admitted as they left the theater. “I might even go back and watch some of the old stuff.”

“Did you at least recognize everyone?” Josh asked. “Spock is a household name, after all.”

Becca nodded. “I know Spock, I know Kirk, and I knew there were an Asian guy and a black girl—”

“Sulu and Uhura.”

“—but I didn’t know their names.” She paused. “I know Scotty and Chekov, and the doctor guy, and that’s it. Oh, and Khan,” she added.

Josh was about to say something when a guy bumped into his shoulder. “Hey, sorry, man,” the guy said back over his shoulder, and then wandered off.

“Well, at least he apologized,” was all Josh said, and then he told Becca to think of a place she wanted to eat.

Becca considered it for a moment before saying, “I don’t know why, but I really want pancakes.”

“Really? Well, it just so happens there’s an IHOP not far from here.” He opened the passenger side door for Becca. “Madame,” he said, bowing.

Becca bowed back. “Thank you, Kind Sir,” she laughed as she climbed into the car.

 

\- - - - - -

 

“Anything?”

“Nah, from what I gathered he’s pretty normal. A little nerdy, maybe, but that’s as weird as it gets.”

“Keep an eye on him from now on.”

“Seriously?”

“. . . . .”

“Okay, fine.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

“You know, I’ve never been to IHOP before,” said Becca as she and Josh followed a server to their table.

“Really?” Josh asked.

“Really.”

“I think you’ll like it,” he said as he pulled her chair out for her and pushed it in when she was sitting down. “Mom used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid—I’d always get the chocolate chocolate chip pancakes, but the last time I was here I got a double BLT.”

Becca looked unimpressed. “Why would you not order pancakes at a pancake place? If you want a BLT, go to a deli or something,” she said, accepting the menu that was handed to her.

Their server, a petite blonde girl with blue eyes and freckles, gave them a friendly smile once they were seated. “My name is Mari, and if you need anything at all throughout your meal, don’t hesitate to ask. Now then, what can I get you to drink?”

Becca and Josh ordered their drinks (soda for Josh, chocolate milk for Becca) and Mari gave them another smile before leaving them alone. Once they were alone Josh raised an eyebrow and said, “Chocolate milk?”

Becca shrugged. “What? I like chocolate milk, so sue me. Anyways its pancakes… I don’t usually drink soda with pancakes, so it was either chocolate milk or juice.”

Josh had to laugh at that. “I don’t think IHOP has juice boxes,” he told her.

Mari came back with their drinks. “Alrighty, are you ready to order?” Mari asked. Becca ordered the Pick-a-Pancake combo with chocolate chocolate chip pancakes and Josh ordered a philly cheese steak stacker.”

“Ooh, that sounds really good,” said Becca after Mari walked away. “I’ll share mine if you share yours,” she offered.

Josh smiled. “Deal.”

 

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

Dinner was great, and Becca felt like the date went really well. When they were in her front porch and the time came for Josh to say farewell, he hesitated. “We should do this again,” he said quietly, shuffling his feet.

Becca bit her lip and nodded. “Definitely,” she agreed.

After another moment’s hesitation, he asked, “So, would a kiss good-night be too much to ask for on a first date?”

Becca took a small step forward and tilted her head up. “Does this answer your question?” she asked before she raised up on her toes and kissed him. She pulled back and smirked as Josh fought for breath.

Okay, so she may have given more than a first-date peck on the lips, but honestly she’d been dying to kiss that mouth all night.

Just as Josh dove in for another kiss, the front door opened and an unimpressed Alfred greeted them. Josh just muttered a quick ‘good night’ and then fled the porch, his face heating up.

Becca huffed. “Thanks a lot, Alfred,” she muttered, brushing past him.”

“My pleasure, Miss Thompson,” was Alfred’s reply. 

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery phone guy is Tim Drake. Thanks a bunch to my lovely Beta, Sperky7220. Love you, Estrella-wa!


	17. seventeen

 

**\- - -- - - - - - - - --**

 

 

Becca was having a really shitty day.

It started off with her alarm not going off, so she woke up almost an hour late. “Seriously?” she muttered sleepily after checking the time on her phone, flopping back down on the bed and groaning. A few seconds later her eyes popped open.

_“_ Shit!”

Becca rushed to get dressed in jeans and a light grey Bioshock Infinite shirt, dragging a brush through her hair and making a mental note to get it cut soon. She slipped on her shoes, clasped her owl locket around her neck, grabbed her stuff, and ran out the door. “Bye Alfred!” she called as she passed the butler, running down the front steps to where her black and red Yamaha R15 was parked.

Becca got stuck in every red light on the way to the campus—she may have sped through one or two of them—and she had a hell of a time finding a parking spot. She glanced at her phone after parking her bike—the first class (English 122) was almost over; might as well grab a cup of iced coffee before Individual Performance. It wasn’t until she had the cup in her hand that she remembered the test that day.

“Crap,” she muttered, squeezing the cup hard enough for the lid to pop off and the contents to spill all over the front of her shirt.

“ **Shit!”** she shrieked, grabbing a wad of napkins and wiping furiously at her shirt; it was already starting to stain—this was her favorite shirt, too. “God Fucking Dammit,” she growled.

An older woman with a toddler gawked at her. “What is wrong with you?” she asked while holding her ears over the toddler’s ears.

Becca blinked owlishly. “Oh. Damn. Sorry.” To the little boy she said, “Don’t do drugs, don’t knock anyone up, stay in school,” and then she hurried outside.

Becca tripped twice on her way to IP, and when she was in the middle of hammering a nail into a set piece she didn’t hear a student’s cry of “Look out!” before something heavy slammed into the back of her neck. She stumbled forward and her hammer missed the nail and hit her thumb.

“Son of a Bitch!” Becca cried, sticking her thumb in her mouth and clutching the back of her neck. The Carpentry instructor sent her to the medical building after several students insisted they heard something crack, and it wasn’t until later, when Becca was sitting in the medic’s office and rubbing the back of her neck that she realized her locket was gone.

The crack everyone heard had been the clasp breaking.

Becca groaned and face palmed.

On her way back to IP to see if anyone found it and turned it in, she tripped and fell, sending the contents of her messenger bag skittering across the floor—books, notebooks, pens, and her laptop.

“Really?” Becca groaned, scrambling to make sure no damage was done to her laptop. She threw everything back in her back and hurried on her way, but was intercepted by Mabel.

“There you are!” the redhead said, grabbing Becca’s wrist and tugging her in the opposite direction.

“But-but I need to get—”

“You can get it after class, now hurry up or we’ll be late!”

Throughout their Psych class, all Becca could think was ‘shit goddamnit fuck he’s going to kill me shit.’ The professor noticed her distracted state and told her that if she wasn’t going to pay attention then she could leave and be marked as absent for the day.

Becca only hesitated for a moment before packing her stuff and hurrying out of the classroom.

By the time she got back to the shop, her locket was gone.

Becca was irritated during Drafting and Painting, so when she made a mistake in her measurements and went to erase it she pressed too hard with the eraser and ripped the vellum.

Becca had pulled an all-nighter (she had her own drafting table at home) and had been almost done with her draft of Notre Dame’s rose window _and now she had to start all over_.

**_Fuck_ ** _._

Becca’s bad mood went from bad to worse when she went to leave and realized that she’d parked in a No Parking Zone, and someone had put a stupid parking boot on her front tire. She called her uncle and left him a message, leaning on her bike hard enough to topple it. “Of course,” Becca muttered before hanging up.

Well, at least Yamaha’s were sturdy.

 

 - - - - - - - - -

 

Bruce was in the middle of a meeting when his niece called him. He waited until after the meeting to check his messages, and he found this in his inbox:

_“Hey Uncle B. Um, so, I may or may not have parked my bike in the wrong spot, and now I have a parking ticket, and they put a boot on it so I can’t even drive it home. So, yeah, if you could work your influential billionaire mojo and get my bike home in one piece, that would be great.”_ There was a loud crashing noise, followed by, _“Of course_.” The message ended.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

Becca caught a ride home with Mabel. She said goodbye to her friend and went straight to her room to plug her phone in, only to discover that her charger wasn’t working. Her laptop wasn’t working, either; it must’ve gotten damaged when it fell out of her bag.

Becca sat on her bed and took a deep breath through her nose.

Mabel would let her copy any notes from English and the test had only been worth twelve percent of her grade. The stain on her shirt would come out, and if she had to she could just buy another one. Her uncle would pay for the traffic tickets and would make sure her bike got back in one piece. She had a spare battery that would last her until she could get a new charger, and she could either have her laptop fixed or just get a new one. Vellum was easy to trace, so she didn’t have to start her Rose Window from scratch.

The only thing she didn’t feel better about was the locket; her luck wasn’t really that good at the moment, so the chances of getting it back were slim to none.

‘He trusted me to keep it safe,’ she thought dejectedly.

Just then, her phone went off.

It was a text from Josh.

_—Hey, don’t kno if u knew it was missing, but I found ur locket. Want me to drop it off? We can go for froyo . . ._

Becca sighed in relief and grinned as she texted a reply.

_—Sounds good :)_

His reply was almost instant.

_—See you soon ;)_

Becca’s grin softened into a smile. She still had feelings for Dr. Crane and she probably always would, but Josh was creeping into her heart inch by inch, pushing thoughts of the psychotic doctor from her mind.

\- - - - - - - - - - -


	18. eighteen

 

**\- - - - - - - - - -- -**

Josh held up Becca’s locket (on a new chain) as soon as she opened the door. “Missing something?” he asked lightly.

Becca smiled and took the offered necklace from him. “You,” she said while fastening it back in place, “Are a life saver.”

“Yeah? What flavor?” he asked seriously.

Becca pretended to think. “Cherry,” she deadpanned before giving Josh a hug. “Seriously, though, thank you,” she said, shutting the door behind her as she joined him on the porch. “I believe you offered froyo, so shall we go?”

Josh bowed and gestured for her to take his arm. “My lady,” he said grandly. “Your chariot awaits.”

Becca curtsied. “Why thank you, kind sir,” she said back with a smile.

There was a Menchies downtown open 24 hours and they picked their flavors and toppings together, negotiating which toppings would be added. Josh paid for it and they took a seat and dug in.

“So, anything special about that particular locket?” Josh asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem pretty glad to have it back.”

Becca swallowed a mouthful of yogurt before reaching her hand up to run her fingers over the small jeweled owl. “It was a gift,” she said quietly.

Josh paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do I have competition?” he asked in mock horror. “Pray tell me, fair one, who this scoundrel is so that I may slay him and win your hand,” he said, grasping her hand.

Becca snorted and shook her head. “Nah, you don’t need to worry—it’s never gonna be anything serious; no slaying necessary,” she reassured him.

Josh huffed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness—blood makes me queasy,” he sighed, wiping a hand over his forehead. “I really didn’t want to go medieval on anyone—I would have, mind you, but I absolutely hate violence. Unless the bastard deserves it. Then I’m all for it.”

Becca laughed and shook her head. “Like I said, it’s nothing serious.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the note of sadness in her voice as she said this.

Thankfully he didn’t. “Oh good, because I’ve actually got something that would’ve been impossible to return.”

Becca tilted her head.

Josh leaned forward. “It just so happened that I came across two Fall Out Boy tickets for this coming up September, and I was hoping you’d join me,” he said, taking her hand in his again.

Becca blinked. “I thought those were sold out,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I couldn’t get a ticket, not even with my uncle’s help, how did you—?”

Josh held up his other hand. “Let’s just say a guy owed me a favor,” he said cryptically. “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” he said in his best Godfather voice.

Becca snorted again. “You’re such a dork,” she laughed.

Josh lowered his gaze for a minute then looked back up at her. “I’d like to be your dork, if you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

Becca bit her lip and nodded once, her face going red. She leaned in for a kiss and he met her halfway.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

“Goodnight,” Becca murmured against Josh’s lips as they stood on the porch to her uncle’s home.

“Sleep well, my princess,” he said back, kissing her again.

“You’re terribly cheesy, had anyone ever told you that?” she asked, smiling, before kissing him again.

Josh just grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”

Becca shook her head slightly. “If you say so.” She went to move away but Josh caught hold of her wrists and pulled her in for another kiss.

Becca practically melted against him. Something inside of her sparked and when he pulled away she was the one to hold him in place. “Stay,” she said quietly.

Josh cupped her face in his hands. “I’d love to.”

Part of Becca started panicking, wondering why she’d asked him to stay, especially since there was no way she was ready to do what she was offering.

“Unfortunately, though, I have to get home,” said Josh, and the panicking part of Becca’s brain settled down. Josh gave her one last kiss, and then he retreated down the steps.

Once Becca got up to her room she collapsed on her bed with a groan. ‘Why did I say that?’ she thought. ‘Is this serious? Is he the right guy?’ Becca thought about her offer while she was getting ready for bed, and when she made it to bed, she tried imagining what it would be like to fall asleep and wake up next to Josh.

 

 

 

 - - - - - - - - - - 

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

  * **\- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - --**



_He was slumped in his seat, his back arched and his head lolled back as a small mouth engulfed his length. His hands came up and his fingers tangled in long black hair. He watched the head of dark hair bob up and down, and hazel eyes looked up through thick lashes, locking gazes with him._

Jonathan jerked awake, breathing heavily. He sat up and looked around. The blank walls of his Arkham cell stared back. He took a deep breath and fought to calm himself.

His uniform felt more restricting than usual, and it took him a painfully long moment to realize why.

Jonathan huffed and lay back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. He thought back to his dream, about the heat in those hazel eyes and the way that small mouth looked stretched around him.

His prick twitched and he groaned in annoyance.

This was going to be a long day.

 

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

“Well, you look terrible,” were the first words out of Edward’s mouth when they sat down for breakfast. “Trouble sleeping, I wonder?”

Jonathan gave him a look that said ‘none of your goddamn business’ and took a bite of what was supposed to be oatmeal.

Edward arched an eyebrow and turned to his left to ask Jervis something, but then stopped himself—what good would it do, after all, when he would get no reply? He shook his head minutely and returned his focus to Jonathan.

His friend looked like shit, and that was putting it mildly. If anything, he’d lost weight, and there were deep bruises around his eyes. He had no major injuries at present, but that could change in an instant if someone decided to use him for a punching bag.

“We should leave.”

Jonathan frowned. “’We?’”

Edward blinked. Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Oh well. “The three of us should leave. Pick a lesser-known hideouts. Lay low for a while, stay off the Bat’s radar.”

Jonathan almost laughed. “The Riddler wants to lay low?” he asked skeptically. “That certainly is a first. I’m surprised your ego would even allow it.”

Edward snorted. “You’re one to talk, oh Master of Fear. I’m surprised your head hasn’t swelled with all the attention that girl was giving you.” He paused. “Where did she wander off to, I wonder? She hasn’t been around in quite a while.”

 “I neither know nor care why she stopped her ‘visits.’ Good riddance, if you ask me.”

Edward leaned forward. “I thought you would have liked her, ah, admiration,” he said with a teasing smile.

Jonathan snorted. “I don’t want her ‘admiration,’ Nygma, I want to make her _scream_.”

Edward snorted and covered his mouth with his hand, trying desperately to muffle his laughter.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what I meant and you know it _,”_ he hissed, glaring at Edward, who only laughed harder.

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

Edward wasn’t the only one who had planned a breakout that night, and one of the other breakouts’ plans involved releasing Killer Croc from his cell—an aquarium tank large enough to hold him, with reinforced bulletproof glass.

The damage and havoc from Croc’s breakout helped cover up the trios escape, and soon the three of them were hunkered down in one of Edward’s mostly unused hideouts.

“Well, that went well,” said a dripping wet Edward as he walked through the side door. “Maybe not exactly according to plan, but close enough.”

“Yes, except for the part where we almost got _eaten,”_ an equally soaked Jonathan snapped, dragging along a dripping Jervis. “Was _that_ part of your plan?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know Croc was loose?” Edward snapped back? “At lease we made it out.” He shook his head roughly, shaking water everywhere.

This was true, Jonathan begrudgingly admitted. They were cold, wet, and exhausted, but they were out, at least for a while.

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - -



 

 

**_ 10 _ **

_“Jeez, hurry up already!” she whined, squirming underneath him. “You are suck a fucking tease!”_

_“Don’t make me regret not gagging you,” he warned, pinning her hands on either side of her head. “I’ve told you before, Child—patience.”_

_“And I’ve told_ you _to stop calling me that!” she growled._

_He ‘tsk’d. “Compared to me you’re merely a child, just starting her life.” He held her wrists together with one hand, trailing his other hand down to cradle her cheek. “I don’t understand you,” he murmured. “You’re young, rich, and beautiful—you could have anyone, yet you give yourself to a criminal twice your age.”_

_Her face flushed and she turned her head away, biting her lower lip. “Yeah, well, age is just a number,” she mumbled. “You’re also not ugly, so that helps.”_

_He lowered his head down, their mouths less than an inch apart. Blue eyes met hazel ones, and her head lifted enough so she could kiss him._

_“How did I get so lucky?” he murmured after they broke apart for air, leaning his forehead against hers._

_She blushed again and gave him a coy smiled. “Dunno. You gonna keep going with the Hallmark moment, or are you gonna fuck me ‘till I can’t walk?”_

_He kissed her again, long and hard._

  * _\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_



Becca woke up feeling warm and content, and she was smiling slightly as she blinked sleep from her eyes. She couldn’t remember the dream she’d just woken up from, but whatever it was left her feeling really good.

She’d felt _wanted_.

 

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - -



Jonathan woke slowly, and he blinked rapidly, trying to recall his dream—he couldn’t recall ever feeling as . . . . . happy . . . . . as he had whilst dreaming. After a moment, though, he merely shook it off and sat up, done with sleep for now.

It was only a dream. There had never been very many good things about his life, and one dream he couldn’t even remember wasn’t going to change that.

 

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

**SOUTH DAKOTA, USA**

In an office in a warehouse, a young redheaded woman sat in a wheelie office chair and was typing away at a laptop. She paused long enough to take a sip of her drink, pulling a face after she did so. “Eww, warm soda,” she muttered, grabbing a snow globe nearby and giving it a little shake over the soda. A small frost flurry emitted from the snow globe and instantly chilled her drink. She set the snow globe down and took another sip. “Better,” she said with a smug little smile, then went back to her laptop.

PING!

The woman’s head snapped up and she wheeled over to another computer, setting her laptop on an available space.

“Hey, Artie, are Pete and Myka back yet?” she asked an older man who had just entered the office.

“They just got back. Why, what’s wrong?” The older man asked, adjusting his glasses.

The woman was about to answer when the door opened again and a man and a woman entered the office.

“Anna Pavlova’s ballet slippers,” said the man, holding up a silver bag. “Snagged and bagged, ready to be tagged!”

“Yeah, well, tagging’s gonna have to wait—you got another ping,” said the redhead.

The man frowned. “Aww, seriously? We just got ba-ack,” he whined.

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Pete just got a new comic he’s been waiting for.”

“Well, that’s gonna have to wait until you get back from . . . . . no way,” the redhead breathed.

“What?” the other woman—Myka—asked. “Claudia, what is it?”

Claudia was looking at Pete. “You’re not gonna believe where this one is,” she said.

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

 

“Well, someone’s chipper this morning,” Mabel greeted Becca as the shorter girl joined her for their psychology class. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Becca shrugged. “Dunno, but I woke up feeling like it’s gonna be a good day,” she said, smiling slightly as she lightly fingered her locket.

Turns out, she’d been right—she didn’t fall asleep during any normally boring classes, and her fun classes were better than usual. She’d gotten an A on her Notre Dame window, and she got to paint for an extra hour in IP Theater due to another class being cancelled. Josh had been busy lately, so they hadn’t been able to hang out.

It felt good seeing him again.

“Hey, so I’ve been thinking,” he said as he swirled his paintbrush into the paint pan. “I’ve been busy lately, and I’m really sorry about that.”

Becca shrugged. “It’s cool,” she said. “You’re busy, I get it.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not—we missed the concert, and I wanna make it up to you.”

Josh had gotten them Sold Out tickets to a concert, but he hadn’t been able to go and Becca hadn’t felt right going without him.

“Josh, it’s cool,really,” she insisted.

“Bec, come on,” he insisted. “I think I know how to make it up to you, and I swear I won’t bail. Just hear me out, okay?”

“. . . . . fine, what’s the plan?” she asked.

Josh beamed. “Meet me this Saturday outside the Gotham City Theater around Noon.”

Becca tilted her head. “Okay, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

“Nope!”

She sighed, smiling and shaking her head slightly. “Fine.”

Whatever he had planned, he was really excited about it, and his excitement was slowly rubbing off on her. By the end of the class, she was just as eager for Saturday to come as he was.

 

 

 

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -



 

“So, I know you hate him but I’ve got another date with Josh this Saturday,” Becca said without preamble when she saw Mabel at the end of the day.

Mabel stopped walking and stared at Becca. “I never said I didn’t like him?” she said, phrasing it like a question.

“Please, you scared him to death when you met him properly,” Becca scoffed.

“I don’t hate him,” she insisted. “I’m actually really happy that you’ve got a date, and I meant what I said in class when you told me about him—it’s good that you’re focusing on someone your own age,” she said gently, and did her best to ignore Becca’s flinch.

Becca didn’t visit Arkham a lot anymore and Mabel didn’t really want her to start again.

“I just . . . . want you to be careful,” said Mabel. “Okay?”

Becca sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

A beat of silence.

“So, where’s he taking you?”

“No idea.”

 

 

 

  * \-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - --



 

Their date, as it turned out, was an afternoon showing of the musical Les Miserables, and at first Becca didn’t believe him.

“Again, these shows have been sold out,” she insisted. “How do you keep getting sold out tickets?”

Josh grinned. “Skills.”

The show was amazing and they grabbed coffee afterwards.

 

 

  * \- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

 

One good thing about being a lesser ‘Gotham Rogue’ was that nobody really paid you much attention whilst out of costume. Jonathan and Edward were able to roam freely in civilian clothes to run an errand or two, with nobody aware that two of the greatest criminal minds in the city were among them.

“Well, would you look at that,” Edward said, stopping dead in his tracks. Jonathan had kept walking and had to backtrack.

“Nygma, if you’re stopping for another crossword puzzle book, I swear to god—”

Edward scoffed. “No, I simply found the reason we’ve seen so little of your, ah, admirer.”

There she was, sitting outside of a coffee shop with a young man. He was talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly as he did so and Jonathan felt a prickle of irritation as she laughed at something the boy said.

She looked happy.

“Good riddance,” was all he said, and he meant it –for the most part.

Her constant attention always irritated him, anyway.

The boy said something else and she smiled as wide as the cat from Jervis’s books, looking at him like he’d hung the moon.

Irritation turned to anger, and Jonathan decided that the boy must die.

After all, wanted or not, she was _his_.

 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warehouse 13 was a good show.


	20. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update :)

Hello!

So, it's been a while. This is not abandoned, but I don't know when it'll be completed. Part of chapter 18 and all of chapter 19 was deleted because the story wasn't working the way I wanted. I was aiming for a huge grand finale, but I was stuck while writing it and couldn't move forward. It'll still be a while before I'm done, but I think i need to wrap this up and start another story.

I know a lot of people don't care for OC stories, so there aren't a lot of followers for my writing, but for the handful of you invested in this story, I'm glad you're here, and you WILL get an update.

Idk when, but it'll happen :)

**Author's Note:**

>  Author’s Note: Hello! I'm on ao3 a lot now so I figured it was time to transfer one of my first fandom stories here. I think I wrote this thing before ao3 was a thing . . . 


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